


Flame & Fury

by AN12



Category: Vermintide, Warhammer Fantasy
Genre: Action/Adventure, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Eventual Sex, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:54:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 38,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27893401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AN12/pseuds/AN12
Summary: Sienna Fuegonasus is as free spirited as the wind, much to the chagrin of renowned Witch Hunter Victor Saltzpyre. But when she nearly loses control to disastrous results, both of them are forced to confront their weaknesses… and each other. Cataclysm and Romance make strange bedfellows indeed.
Relationships: Sienna Fuegonasus/Victor Saltzpyre
Comments: 83
Kudos: 54





	1. Chapter 1

The sound of gunfire shook Sienna awake.

With an instinct born of countless battles, she leapt out of her iron bed, grabbing the staff that was always propped ready next to it. She stoked the fire smouldering in her chest, eager to devour any enemy in sight.

Then she groaned as she recognized the sharp, punctuated staccato of Victor’s pistol. One Eye was practicing his marksmanship. Again. And it was always before dawn.

The man was such a sadist.

Sienna reluctantly let go of her fire magic, smothering the blaze inside to a few embers. Flopping back down on the bed, she tried to fall back asleep, but it was no use. She was still too wired from Aqshy’s high, and the sound of Victor’s gun practice was like a chisel pounding into her skull.

Annoyed, she threw on a scarlet robe and stalked out of her room. Sienna was determined to give that infuriatingly imperious Witch Hunter a piece of her mind. Shoes clacking as she descended down the crumbling stone steps, the bright wizard made her way to the entrance of the courtyard. 

The exterior of the Keep was shrouded in the bluish tint of a pre-dawn mist. Far away in the horizon, a pink tinge behind the snow capped mountains signaled the arrival of dawn. Sienna breathed deep. The air was cool and fresh, the breeze bracing against her face. 

Another round of gunfire broke the early morning stillness, and Sienna scowled. 

Following the stone path, she soon saw Victor. The man’s back was facing her, his silhouette against the mist rigid and imposing. Despite the early hour he was already outfitted in full gear, the tall hat of his office on his head, body attired in a dark leather coat that went down to his knees.

Sienna rolled her eyes. She watched as he continued to riddle the training dummies with holes. One dummy already had its head blown off, while three others saw five perfect holes straight through the chest. Although Sienna would never admit it, the Witch Hunter’s marksmanship was impressive. 

”What are you doing here, witch?” Victor suddenly spat, pausing in mid-fire. He did not turn around. “If you cannot tell, I am busy and do not wish to be disturbed.”

“Trust me darling,” she drawled, knowing full well that it would irritate him. “I‘m not here for your tender attention. What I want to say is- Can you stop making that racket in the morning? Normal, good folk are trying to sleep.”

“I would like to remind you, Fuegonasus, that we are currently fighting a war,” said the Witch Hunter through gritted teeth. “We are the last bastion defending the world from the hordes of chaos. Sleep is a luxury that we can ill afford.”

“Look,” Sienna said, pressing a hand to her tired eyes. “It’s too early for arguments. Yesterday’s mission was downright nasty, and it’s only going to get worse. We need all the rest we can get to keep a clear head, even if you don’t.”

Victor turned to face her then. He looked sunken, exhausted, and dark circles had formed beneath his eyes. However, the fanatical gleam in his good eye was clear and fierce. “This is exactly why necessity takes precedence over comfort,” he barked, voice showing no trace of fatigue. “Sigmar rewards unwavering discipline and dedication. With only one eye, it behooves me to practice even harder for all your safety.”

Sienna laughed, a smoky, guttural sound. 

“Oh ho, why Saltzpyre, is that affection I sense? Have you grown to care for us after all? Will wonders never cease! I thought that only ice flowed through your veins.” 

Victor jerked back as though he had been slapped. “Be careful, witch,” he spat. “Have a care that you do not hinder us with your complacency and heresies.” 

“After everything we have been through, still you must berate me and insult me.” The wizard folded her arms across her chest. “Tell me, zealot, how many times have my flames saved you?” 

“I have told you before. It is not your flames that concern me. Your power grows, and I see you dance on the precipice.” He stared at her, and his voice was as hard as iron. “Yet you will not heed me to discipline your magic. For your addiction and selfish pleasure, are you willing to let the rest of the world burn?”

Without waiting for an answer he stalked off back to the dungeons, leaving Sienna staring after him in his wake. She suddenly felt strangely guilty.

“Don’t mind the mayfly, Sienna. Yours is a gift to be cherished.”

“Kerillian.” The wizard acknowledged as the wood elf leapt gracefully and silently next to her. Wrapped in her forest green cloak, the elf looked nearly ethereal in the morning mist. She nodded in greeting, and Sienna noticed the worn bows clasped in her hand. With unspoken understanding, she fell in step beside Kerillian as they made their way to the Sternenlicht Forge.

“One Eye will not understand. His mind is narrow, and that limits his understanding,” the elf said, giving Sienna a sideways glance. Although the elf seemed to find in the wizard a kindred spirit, Sienna still felt unsettled when those obsidian eyes landed on her. It reminded her of a beetle’s jeweled shell.

“I know, but sometimes, I can’t help but wonder if he is indeed right. I told you before that I felt adrift in a sea of flame. It’s... getting worse,” she confessed. “It is becoming harder to let go of the flame. I fear that I would one day drown in Aqshy’s eternal cup.”

”Ah, I forget that you mayflies have such struggles,” Kerillian said loftily. “An elf wizard would never know such weakness.”

“Yes,” said Sienna dryly. “Pity we can’t all be elves.” She sighed. “Ah, what must it be like to harness all eight winds of magic!”

”Do not despair, wizard. Does a worm compare itself to the dragon? For a mayfly, you are talented enough.”

“Thanks.”

Their boots crunched over the stone path. Once smooth, the path was broken now, with grass slowly reclaiming the cracked slabs. Day had finally broken, and the Keep was bathed in golden light. 

In companionable silence, Sienna watched as Kerillian worked on the forge, salvaging the two worn bows for materials. The heat from the forge prickled her skin pleasingly, and she longed to raise the flame higher and hotter. Just a little, she thought, and she began to build the fire within her, anticipating the heady magical rush...

_For your addiction and selfish pleasure, are you willing to let the rest of the world burn?_

Sienna turned away, feeling the hopeful flame fading to bitter ashes in her mouth. 

* * *

No one mentioned it, but everyone knew that the time between each mission was getting shorter, and yet the hordes continued to be relentless, bottomless. 

Just a few months ago Sienna would have welcomed this development with open arms. More battles meant more magic, more highs, more dizzying intoxicating ecstasies. 

But now, the bright wizard was not so certain as the horrors and death count climbed steadily upwards. Always the heroes seemed to arrive too late, with decaying corpses already choking the streets and fields. Every scrap of victory hard fought and won seemed just that, a scrap, a mere pebble in a boot that was crushing out all life beneath.

With practiced ease, Sienna pulled on her scarlet battle robes. Whispering a mantra of protection, she felt the enchantments tightly interwoven in each seam flare slightly. She had paid a king’s ransom for the garment, but the crone who sold it to her swore that it would never catch fire in battle. 

Buckling a thick leather corset around her waist, the fire wizard then wound several rounds of stout chains above it. Holding each end of the chain tautly, Sienna focused her flame into it, pouring more and more until the dull chains glowed a dark, pulsing red. She smiled grimly. Any vermin that tries to grab her from behind would be in for a nasty surprise. 

And finally, almost reverently, she put on the Pyromancer Candlegate. The burnished steel gorget augmented the wizard’s power, allowing her to draw even more from the winds of Aqshy. Sienna relished the sweet rush of magic burning through her veins, feeling it manifesting as shining points of light dancing beneath her skin. Power continued to build in her, and the candles arrayed in their holders around her head came alight. A circlet of fire.

With a sword sheathed at the hip and her fireball staff clutched in a mailed fist, she looked every inch a vengeful battle spirit. 

Satisfied with her gear, Sienna made her way down to the center of the Keep. It was time for another mission briefing from their enigmatic host, Lohner. Despite his easygoing manner and facade of a simple, aging innkeeper, make no mistake, he was the brains behind the entire operation. 

Lohner’s usually affable face was grim as he surveyed the Ubersreik Five. “I am sorry,” he said, crossing his muscled arms across his chest. “But there is no time to rest. We have a problem.”

Turning around, he tapped a finger on the detailed map of the Reikland pinned to the crumbling stone wall. 

“Fort Brachsenbrucke is under siege,” he began. “I don’t think I need to remind you how critical it is for this fort to remain in imperial hands...”

Sienna let his words wash over her. Her mind was already on the killing, her blood quickening in anticipation. Thinking of the burning bodies that would soon be piled high caused her to tremble. Clenching her fists, she willed herself to calm down, to pay attention to the mission. 

Focus. Deep breaths. She can control this. 

As Lohner droned on, an instinct caused her to snap her head up, and straight into Victor’s unwavering eye. The Witch Hunter was glaring at her, his expression accusatory. Guilty, but refusing to be cowed, Sienna stared back just as fiercely. She also threw in a wide saucy smirk, just to infuriate him. 

Victor’s eye twitched. Seething, he opened his mouth to bark a caustic comment. “You wi-“

“Aaaaand that’s it, everyone,” Lohner interrupted loudly, clapping his hands together. “I wish we had more time together, but the Reikland is burning and all that.”

”Yes,” echoed Markus, enthusiastically steering Victor in the direction of the Bridge of Shadows. “Let’s make these heretics pay, sir!”

“I’m not finished-“

“Aye, Azumgi!“ Bellowed Bardin, clashing his double axes together and following after them. “That’s the spirit! I can’t wait for my axes to bite into those wazzocks! HYYRGGH!!”

“Must you all be so noisy? Mayflies and Lumberfoots, the lot of you!” Kerrillian sniffed scornfully as she whipped ahead, twin daggers flashing in her hands. 

“You are all testing my patience-“

“Hurry up,” shouted Olesya. “I can’t hold this thing open very long. Get in, quickly!” The Bridge of Shadows loomed open, its dome of blue energy shimmering before them. 

Sienna bit back a guffaw as she saw Victor being unceremoniously swept up in the rush to the portal. The look he shot at her was murderous.

Readying her staff, the bright wizard took a breath before plunging into the pulsing maw of the waystone.


	2. Chapter 2

Screams and shrieks.

The air was filled with the smell of charred flesh and blood.

A shadow loomed before her, cruel blade raised high. Sienna swung. Her sword bit deep, parting fur, sinew and bone. The Clanrat toppled, claws scrabbling uselessly at its torn throat.

“A fine blow,” praised Markus on her right.

“Thanks,” the wizard said, glancing at the heap of dead vermin at the mercenary’s feet. “All I can say is, I’m glad that we are on the same side.”

The sound of marching. 

Ten armoured Stormvermin, flanked on both sides by the lesser rats, were bearing down on her from the left. Their eyes met. With ear splitting shrieks, the Skavens swarmed forward. Cursing, Sienna stumbled back. Sheathing her blade, she felt the arcane runes on her staff flare into life. The air around her cracked and wavered as flames coalesced above her free palm. Aqshy was drawn forth, and Sienna forced her will upon it. 

Hotter and brighter the fireball grew, shimmering the air before her. All noise was cackling flame. Her blood thrummed in absolute delight. 

“Eat this, you pests!” She laughed, hurling the fireball. The Skavens screamed, trying to scatter, but they were packed too tightly and too close. 

Explosion. Bits of charred fur and skin rained down around them. The elite Stormvermin staggered, their cloaks afire. And in that instant, Victor was among them, stabbing and hacking.

His rapier danced. Two precise jabs, and two Stormvermin collapsed. The pistol in his other hand finished off a third. 

“Look out, behind you!” Sienna shouted.

Victor turned, just as a burning ratman swung its heavy halberd down towards his head.

“Kill-kill, man-thing!” It screamed, flecks of blood spraying from its lips. Its eyes were crazed with pain. 

A gout of flame met a flash of steel, and the headless rat sank to its knees.

“I appreciate the concern, witch,” Victor sneered disdainfully, “But I would have done away with the beast myself.”

Sienna shook her head. “I have no idea why I even bother with you, Saltzpyre.”

“Now that’s a question for the ages, isn’t it?”

“Argue later!” Markus shouted, scrambling up a grassy knoll towards them. “There’s a bloody rat ogre on the loose! Bardin! Kerrillian!”

”Aye, a Rakogri,” Bardin growled, clambering up from behind. His great axes were stained black with blood.

“It’s coming,” the wood elf said. “It’s approaching from the forest just yonder.” 

Sienna could hear it now. The sound of something large and monstrous was thumping towards them. 

“Hold steady,” said Victor imperiously, striding forwards. “The abomination is a mindless, evil thing. It will rush one of us when it comes. Kruber, Goreksson, to me! We will draw the thing’s wrath. Elf, Witch, kill it with everything you have!”

The dull, thumping noises intensified, as did Sienna’s pounding heart. Her hands trembled. Deep breaths. Block out the roar. Focus only on the flame, to burn, to kill. 

The hulking beast burst forth from the forest. 

Sienna gasped. She had fought rat ogres before, but none so monstrous as the one before her. It was a nightmare creature, stitched together from the bodies of its many brethren. Impossibly colossal, one swipe of its sledgehammer fist could very well kill them all.

The beast turned, sniffing the air. 

It turned once more, and its beady eyes finally caught sight of the Five. With a mindless, earth shattering bellow, the Rat Ogre charged towards them.

“It is upon us! Strike for Sigmar!” Victor shouted. “Kruber, Dwarf, split up! **_Now_ **!”

The rapid bursts from his gun echoed above the din. The monster snarled, shrugging off the bullets like flies.

“Steady, wizard,” whispered Kerillian, drawing her bow. “We will aim for the head to give these mayflies a fighting chance.”

Sienna readied her staff. “No matter how big it is, it will burn all the same,” she replied grimly. A ball of flame erupted in her palm. Flaming sigils flickered up her hands, writhing into new shapes as she sought to make the fireball even greater and wilder. Power surrounded her, and in Aqshy’s loving embrace, she felt invincible.

The Rat Ogre had picked up speed. Barreling towards them, it trampled the dead and wounded beneath. As its brutish head finally came into clear sight, the wizard launched the dazzling orb straight into the monster’s maw.

Fur sizzled, and the creature howled. 

Kerillian’s bow twanged. An arrow shot forth, embedding itself deep into the Rat Ogre’s right eye. Blood spurted.

Axe and sword converged on the distracted beast. Cold steel bit over and over into the monster’s body, ripping out chunks of flesh. Roaring, the Rat Ogre lashed out with its powerful arms. Sienna saw Markus slam against a rock, collapsing. She could not see what happened to the others.

Blood dripping from its wounds, the beast turned its vengeful eye on her. The wizard hesitated, knowing that she was fast approaching her limit. The sigils of flame in her skin were already pulsing white hot, a bad sign. Blood rushing in her ears, she saw death charging towards her.

Someone was shouting her name, but it all seemed so far away. There was only the blazing inferno within, and the overwhelming craving to take even more fire into herself.

_It feels good, doesn’t it, lovely Sienna? Come, drink more, take more from my well of eternal flame..._

“What are you doing, witch? Get out of the way!” A heavy force suddenly slammed into her, catching her around the waist. There was a cry of pain. 

She felt the wind from the Rat Ogre as it ploughed into the place where she just stood.

Her head hit the ground with a dull thud. Dazed and pained, she sat up, stars swimming in her eyes. The sigils in her skin flared briefly, then dimmed and faded. All around her was the sound of battle, and a terrible, horrible screaming.

A volley of Hagbane Tips, dipped with tell-tale green poison, pelted the monster. Rearing, the beast spun away from Sienna and lunged towards the source of the arrows.

“Wizard! Help One Eye!” The urgency in the elf’s voice jolted her from the daze. She spun around to see Victor yelling in pain, his hands and arms aflame. 

Horrified, Sienna willed the fires to abate. “I’m sorry-"

“Don’t ... need your help..." The Witch Hunter rasped through gritted teeth. He was trembling. His palms and fingers were curled upwards, the skin red and shiny. Giant blisters wept clear fluid. His gloves and sleeves had been burnt right through.

“That needs to be looked at right now or you are going to lose your hands,” Sienna said roughly. Guilt was twisting in her like a knife.

It was very lucky that she had managed to scavenge a healing draught earlier. Pulling the small bottle from her robes, she yanked out the rubber stopper.

There was a short, awkward pause.

“As your hands are injured, I need you to open your mouth,” she said uncomfortably. “You know- so that I can pour the potion in.”

The Witch Hunter stared at her, askance. A slight colour rose on his usually bloodless cheeks.

“That... that shall not stand, witch,” he snarled feebly, still hunched in pain over his burnt hands. “I am a Templar of the Order of the Silver Hammer and-“

“Oh shut up, Victor, we don’t have time for this,” Sienna interrupted. “Trust me, I want this as little as you do. Do you want to lose your hands?”

The wizard could see the conflict warring in Victor’s proud face. His jaw worked silently, and his good eye was determinedly fixed on a point just above her head. And finally he relented, tilting his head back and opening his mouth in defeat. Eyes clenched tight, his breath came in uneven, shaky gasps, as though he was fighting an overwhelming urge to flee.

Very gently, Sienna took hold of his chin, feeling the rough skin beneath her fingers. The years had not been kind to him, and the harsh lines on his weathered, gaunt face spoke of a hard life.

“Never had a woman touch you before, huh, Saltzpyre?” She tried to joke, to get the usual rise from him, but somehow, the situation felt all wrong. Hastily, she poured the health potion into his mouth.

Almost instantly the burnt flesh started to heal, the angry blisters shrinking and knitting back into new pink skin. 

Victor immediately wrenched away, the colour still high on his cheeks. Turning away, he inspected his hands, flexing and checking them for mobility. 

“Serviceable,” he muttered. “Still tender, but that will have to do for now.”

“You’re welcome, darling,” Sienna said loudly.

Furious, the Witch Hunter rounded on her. “This was entirely your fault, Fuegonasus,” he hissed, very much back to his old self. “You nearly d-”

“The rat ogre is dead sir! Glad to see that you are still with us!” Markus was scrambling up the hill towards them, with Kerillian and Bardin bringing up the rear. “We’d best be making our way to the fort now.”

“Well fought!” Victor called down. “Stay in position Sergeant, we will join you there.”

Holding his rapier aloft, the Witch Hunter paused. He said curtly, “We will have our reckoning later, witch, you and I.”

”Aye,” she replied, not quite meeting his eyes. “I am sure we will.”


	3. Chapter 3

The battle for Fort Brachsenbrucke was long and tedious. Skavens and Rotbloods lurked in every stone corridor, and only corpses remained of the once stalwart Imperial defenders. The sun had nearly set by the time the last of the enemy’s siege weapons were brought low, allowing them to escape back through the Bridge of Shadows. 

Tired and worn, Sienna made straight to her private bathing area in the Keep. It was a tiny stone hut close to the stream, just large enough to contain an iron bathtub and a small rickety table. The only source of light was a guttering torch affixed to the wall.

A hidden pipe connected the stream to the bathhouse. Pulling an iron lever to open the sluice, Sienna relished the welcoming sight of fresh spring water gushing into the tub. Peeling off her bloodied armour and clothes, she dropped them onto the table with a sigh. When she was satisfied with the water’s height, she pulled the lever again. The steady flow of water soon slowed to a tiny trickle. 

In the night’s stillness, broken only by the chirp of crickets and an occasional hoot, Sienna finally allowed herself to relax. The water steamed as she lowered herself into the tub. Letting the warm water soothe her aching joints, she closed her eyes. 

She felt empty. 

After the highs of battle, the lulls in between were almost unbearable. Before Ubersreik, it had been easier to contain the hunger. There were more... _distractions_ of both flesh and spirit.

But now, she was shut up in the Keep most days, and the number of missions have been growing in frequency. Being constantly exposed to pyromancy had led to increasingly spectacular feats of flame. However, underneath the dazzle, the cold truth was that she needed more and more of the magical rush to fill the void. If left unchecked, this addiction threatened to overwhelm her ability to control Aqshy’s destructive magic. 

Like today.

That split second hesitation was nearly fatal. If Victor had not shoved her out of the way, she would either be dead now, or a being tainted by Chaos. If she had given in to the temptation to channel above her limit, there would have been no turning back. This was the danger that her old tutors at the Bright College had always warned her about.

“You lack discipline, student Fuegonasus,” they would intone disapprovingly. “Your fire wavers, and you shift in place like a distracted gnat. Wielders of the Red Wind cannot have weak minds. Focus!” 

The wizard leaned back, feeling the hard rim of the tub against her neck. She stared up at the thatched ceiling above, and longed to set it all ablaze. In the fire she would be numb, oblivious to all life’s problems and obligations and pain. In the fire, there would only be pleasure. Light started to dance beneath her skin, but the swirling pattern was chaotic, messy. The water around her frothed and bubbled.

It would be so easy to give up control, and let the flame take over. 

But Sienna could not allow it. 

Mountains of corpses, and rivers flowing with blood. Men, women and children slaughtered in their hundreds of thousands. Bodies desecrated in vile rituals, strung up to be picked apart by scavengers. Horrors upon horrors unimaginable have assailed reality, and she was one of the few who had the power to stand between humanity and extinction. 

Sighing, she smothered the magic rising within her. 

A lack of control and limits would eventually make her a liability. Victor’s burnt hands were a testimony to that. The image of him screaming, his hands and arms on fire, was seared into her soul. Although there was a poetic irony to a Witch Hunter burning, Victor did not deserve that from her.

He was unpleasant, self-righteous and rigid, but you knew where you stood with him. In the face of overwhelming odds, he was the bulwark of faith that chaos broke upon. Resolute, demanding and capable of delivering results, only a fool would underestimate him. 

Which was why she did not understand why the Witch Hunter willingly put himself at risk to save her. At that level of magical spellcasting, her skin must have been incandescent. And in doing so, he unwittingly exposed a chink in that hard shell of his. A glimpse of vulnerability, in that open mouth, trembling hands and eyes squeezed tight.

Sienna sank further down into the tub, watching her breath bubble above her. 

* * *

The moon had already risen high when the bright wizard emerged from the bath house. Dressed in a simple linen shift, she breathed deeply of the crisp mountain air.

A shadow shifted some twenty, thirty paces ahead of her. She smiled thinly, as the familiar silhouette of the Witch Hunter unfolded itself from the darkness. 

“Have I already lost your trust, Saltzpyre?” She called.

“That depends, witch,” returned Victor, striding towards her. “My trust is not easily given. Once lost, it is impossible to be restored.”

Sienna noticed that he was fully armed. Although seemingly casual, his gloved hand hovered close to his sheathed rapier, and the handles of his pistols glinted in the moonlight. For a moment, a pang of guilt and hurt engulfed her. The familiar bitterness of betrayal rose like bile in her throat. 

Angry, she retorted scathingly. “And is this why you are skulking around outside my bath like some common lecher? One mistake, and you are ready to toss me aside?”

“I am here because we can ill afford any mistakes at this point,” Victor said coldly. “And you, Fuegonasus, have become a question mark. If you are one miscast from devolving into a damned chaos spawn, then perhaps your usefulness is at an end.”

“Chaos spawn? Volans, that’s exaggerating it a little, isn’t it?” Sienna fired back. 

“Not at all,” countered the Witch Hunter, biting off each word. “Chaos taints the winds that you and your... kind use to channel your heretical magic. I have seen many good men and women fall prey to its corruption, becoming hedge wizards, witches, necromancers and worse. I see the same hunger in your face.”

“If that’s the case, then why did you save me?” Sienna challenged, stung. Her harsh tone belied the guilt she felt, as she knew he was right. “Did you make a mistake in your own vaunted calculations of my worth?”

There was a long silence. The tension hung heavy between them, full of unexpressed emotion. From jailor and prisoner, they had passed through a baptism of fire and blood to become…unlikely Comrades? Friends? While trading insults and barbs, they had protected each other’s backs countless times.

“No,” Victor said abruptly, looking away. “You know perfectly well that our alliance is circumstantial. I saved you out of necessity, nothing more. Your flames are still useful.”

“And you are not?” Sienna snickered. “I don’t think the Order would have taken kindly to you sacrificing yourself for a mere witch.”

“It was a calculated risk,” he replied defensively. “And one, may I remind you, that worked as there are still two of us here rather than one. You walk free due to my charity alone.”

Sienna barked a laugh. “Charity! Call a spade a spade and admit that you desperately need me to fight the Skaven! I never thought I would see the day...Old Saltzpyre thinks I’m necessary.” 

“It is an-”

“Outrage, heresy, abomination, disgrace.” The wizard finished, checking off her fingers. She smiled triumphantly at Victor’s angry sputtering. “I think I got all of them.” 

“Ridicule all you want, witch,” the Witch Hunter snapped. “Don’t forget that your shackles can just as easily be restored.”

“But didn’t you just say that you needed me? Why, you will make my head spin being all contrary. It’s all right to say that you love me, you know.”

“Silence! I did not come here to be mocked.” Victor was almost choking on his rage. Baring his teeth, he pointed a gloved finger accusingly at the wizard. “Has it escaped your notice that our existence is more than mere frivolity? Can you not hear the thousands of souls crying out for vengeance? Where is your righteous fury? The world needs your flames, and yet you cavort with your own destruction!”

“I acknowledge that, Victor,” Sienna replied seriously. “And I also wanted to thank you for saving me earlier.”

“Of course, I don’t expect a witch to understand... what did you just say?” He stared at her, flabbergasted by her admission. 

“By the Eight Winds, I am not ready to face Morr yet. So you have saved me from that fate at least.” The bright wizard turned to look out at the mountains shrouded in shadow and fog. She shivered, and it was not from the cold. 

“I am sorry about your hands.”

“It’s nothing,” said Victor stiffly. Although hidden beneath the new gloves and sleeves, Sienna guessed that his hands and arms were completely bandaged in a stinging poultice. The health potion did not get rid of all pain.

“As a Witch Hunter, I’m expected to endure. There will never be rest for me, so long as heresy abounds. And now I have to ask you, Fuegonasus, are you still resolute in your conviction to defeat the servants of Chaos?”

“I wouldn’t have shed so much blood if I didn’t believe in the cause,” snapped Sienna. She sighed, her voice turning troubled. “I am not the witch that you fear I am, but I admit that my control as of late has been slipping. It might be time to revisit some of my old teachings, and find a way to better master my flames.”

“That… is a surprisingly reasonable course of action,” Victor remarked, arching an imperious eyebrow at her. He peered at her from beneath the brim of his watchtower hat. “I’m surprised. I thought you hated the College.”

“I do, with every fiber of my being. It was...is...incredibly dull. I never had much interest in scholarly pursuits, and the College curriculum was so rigidly structured.”

“Perhaps there was a good reason for that.”

“Yes,” Sienna smiled mirthlessly. “If you didn’t detest magic, you might like the place. The majority of my training was focused on discipline and order; a lack of mastery in both could cause a wizard to lose control and destroy themselves.”

Surprisingly, Victor said nothing. He merely waited for the wizard to continue. 

“So I’ve decided,” Sienna said resignedly. “I need more control over my power. I no longer have my books from Altdorf, but I should remember enough to start. I cannot allow anyone else to get hurt again.”

“And I am glad to hear it,” he replied, looking at her searchingly with that piercing gaze of his. Suspicion still shadowed his expression, but something like relief flickered across his face. “It will bode well for you in your trial.” 

“If it ever happens,” returned the wizard dryly. 

“It shall,” Victor said firmly. “Sigmar provides.”

A chill wind howled down the mountains surrounding them. Shivering slightly, Victor wrapped his coat tightly around him, placing his hands in his armpits for warmth. Effortlessly, Sienna drew forth her magic. A small ball of fire formed in her hands, enveloping both of them in a soft, warm glow. 

Instinctively, the Witch Hunter leaned forwards into the warmth, and a small sigh of pleasure escaped from his throat.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Sienna whispered, enjoying the brief surge of Aqshy in her bones. The flaming sphere hung suspended between them, keeping the encroaching cold at bay. 

At the sound of the wizard’s voice, Victor suddenly jerked back out of the light. 

“I believe that we are done here,” he said curtly. “Just see to it that you do not give me cause to regret saving you.”

Turning on his heel, the man strode off into the darkness, leaving Sienna alone.


	4. Chapter 4

It was easier said than done to try to temper her fire addiction. 

Part of learning control came from discipline, which was **not** one of Sienna’s strong suits. While she was stubborn and determined, her mind often struggled to remember gaps in her memories. It had been a long time since she last stepped past those great bronze gates, and she never thought that she would have to revisit those unpleasant experiences. 

Every morning, she tried to meditate as she had been taught so long ago. Sitting cross legged on her iron bed, she surrounded herself with small braziers of burning materials: wood, cloth, leather, and the charred flesh of small critters. The smell took her back to the College, where multiple fires were always burning. It helped her to focus, and remember half forgotten chants and rituals more easily. 

No one said anything about the new scents permeating through the Keep (not that she could help it, as her room had a large hole punched through it), but she noticed that Victor would sometimes sit on the steps opposite when doing his daily prayers. Sienna could not tell whether he liked the smell or was there to keep an eye on her, but seeing him there made her all the more intent on succeeding. 

However, how do you put limits on a raging fire? 

With her natural talent, Sienna was used to instinctive spellcasting and channeling. But now, she had to abandon instinct in favour of more controlled application. The first few days of meditation were extremely difficult, and the scorched walls bore evidence of her frustration and wrath. 

Closing her eyes and breathing deeply of the smoke, Sienna started the ritual chanting. Tendrils of light started to glow beneath her skin, consolidating into defined sigils and patterns. Sweet magic sang in her blood, and she fought down the craving to draw even more of that pyromaniacal high. 

Two fireballs bloomed above her upturned hands. 

Carefully, she focused on controlling the flow of magic precisely, so that the fireballs would maintain in a perfect sphere. A competent battle wizard would have no trouble maintaining this equilibrium for hours. Sienna was still having problems with ten minutes. However, to be fair, this was a marked improvement from when she started two weeks ago. 

Today, she made it to twelve minutes before her tongue slipped, and the fireballs swelled to the size of a pumpkin. Cursing, she hurled them against the wall, watching them explode satisfactorily against the blackened stone. 

Somewhere above her, Lohner’s mysterious artist shouted down from the rafters. “Tone it down! I can’t work under these conditions!”

“Oh stop whining!” Sienna yelled back, angrily kicking the braziers over. Smoldering ashes spilled out onto the rubble strewn floor. “You are not the only one living in this god-forsaken Keep!”

Lying back down on the iron bed, the wizard stared at the ceiling above her. Mindlessly, she traced the uneven stone with a finger even as her vision blurred and a burning sensation prickled at the corners of her eyes. She hated failure. 

There was a knock on the door. 

“Now is not a good time,” Sienna called, still staring at the ceiling. “At the rate I’m going, I might just accidentally burn you alive.”

There was a palpable pause, as though the person on the other side was hesitating. After a while, Sienna heard the sound of retreating footsteps echoing in the Keep. Sighing, the wizard sat up. Wiping away her tears, she righted the braziers yet again and relit the fires. There was still another hour before their next mission.

* * *

“Are you all right, wizard? You don’t… look very good.”

“Never better, darling,” answered Sienna with false cheer. “Once I put my fire to the ratties, things will brighten up.”

“If you are sure,” said Markus doubtfully. “You look positively exhausted. How about you take my place on guard duty today, and have a break?”

“What? And miss out on all the fun?” Sienna said in mock surprise. She patted the mercenary on the arm. “Thanks Markus, you are a sweetheart but I’ll be fine.”

“It might be wise to listen to the Sergeant,” Victor cut in bluntly from his place against the wall. “You are doing holy work, and there is no shame in taking some respite to redouble your zeal.”

“Give it a rest, Saltzpyre,” Sienna said sharply. “I am going, and that’s the end of that.” She looked around at the Five about her. “Does anyone else have any objections?”

“None from me, Zharrin,” Bardin rumbled, peering up at her through his iron and gold helmet. He tugged at his beard thoughtfully. “Far be it my place to tell a Dawri what to do. Your flames are always welcome.”

Kerillian merely shrugged. “Do as you wish, wizard,” the elf said as she restrung her bow. “The life of a mayfly is short.”

“You see,” drawled Sienna, turning to face the Witch Hunter with a flourish. “Looks like you are outnumbered.”

“You know perfectly well what I mean, witch.” Victor huffed irritably. Ignoring the wizard, he pointedly began inspecting his pistols. Brow deeply furrowed beneath his hat, his mouth was set in a grim line. 

“No, actually I do not,” flared Sienna. “Why don’t you tell me exactly what you mean?”

Victor was spared from answering as Lohner emerged from the stairs at that very moment. “Sorry for the delay,” he said without preamble. “But Olesya has just informed me of some concerning news regarding today’s mission.”

Striding over to the map, the burly innkeeper tapped at a cluster of inked trees. 

“I mentioned yesterday that the Rotbloods are digging for an artefact of immense power deep in the Reikwald Forest. I expected to have more time, but apparently not. Backed by an army of Skaven slaves, the Pactsworn are close to unearthing it, which will be disastrous for us. I need you to bring the roof down on them, literally speaking.” He eyed each of them in turn. “Are there any questions?”

Lohner made it sound so easy.

Deep in the heart of Pactsworn occupied territory, the hordes were relentless. Another wave of Skavens and Rotbloods boiled over the decaying forest like a cancerous blight.

“We are getting close to the accursed thing,” shouted Victor above the din. “Press on and stay close!”

Sienna hurled fireball after fireball into the roiling mass of rats and Northmen. Screams and howls filled the air, and the smell of charred flesh rose thick and rank. Laughing maniacally, the wizard relished the feeling of power surging through her. Although the change felt minuscule, she did feel that it was fractionally easier to ventilate and let go of her flames. 

A Ratling Gunner clanked into firing position amidst the chaos. Just as Sienna unleashed another fireball, the grizzled Skaven started firing its volley of warpstone bullets directly at her. “Oh Shi-”

Two rapid shots rang out, and the gunner slumped lifeless to the ground.

“Pay attention, witch,” Victor barked, turning back into the fray. In one swift motion, he holstered his pistols. His rapier flashed almost too fast to be seen, slicing into vulnerable throats and flesh. 

In return, Sienna lobbed a particularly large fireball directly over his head, the heat from it causing him to visibly flinch and duck. 

“Watch your aim! I am not your enemy… yet,” the Witch Hunter snarled, skewering another ratman.

Laughing, Sienna jumped off her vantage point and joined up with Victor. The horde had finally noticeably thinned. Back to back, they made short work of the stragglers. 

“This way, mayflies,” Kerillian’s voice called from ahead. “The entrance to their foul excavation site is through here.” 

The signs of corruption grew more pronounced the closer they approached the cavern dug into stone. Diseased vines and their rotten fruit slithered underfoot, massing into a bloated tangle at the heart of the entrance. Twining around the walls and floors, they gave off the sickly sweet stench of rot and decay.

Victor glared at them in distaste. “These vile blights on Imperial soil are an affront to Sigmar. We will destroy every last one of them!” 

“Aye, Grimgi. Disgusting dumi buboes have no business here,” Bardin said, shaking his head. He hefted his heavy axe. “Shall we head down then?”

“We shall indeed, Master Dwarf. No doubt the place will be crawling with vermin, but our righteous fury will cleanse the place. Onwards!”

As they jumped down each level of the crude scaffolding, the scale of the excavation revealed was staggering. Like an immense jagged crown, the ancient artefact towered above them. Malicious energy pulsed from within the monolith, and it was festooned with chains and all manner of diseased vines and rot. 

The sodden earth squelched underfoot. Drums started to sound, and the frenzied howls of hundreds upon hundreds of Pactsworn rent the air. 

“Lohner said that we have to find the buboes in the Monolith’s outgrowth and destroy them,” recounted Kerillian, readying her bow. “It shall be my pleasure to bury this monstrosity.”

”Leave some for us, Waywatcher!” Sienna laughed fiercely. “My fire will consume them all.”

“I thought that you were practicing moderation, witch!” Victor groused, dispatching an oncoming berserker with a well placed headshot. “Or have you changed your mind?”

“You misunderstand, Saltzpyre. I am seeking control, not moderation,” Sienna replied, hurling a barrage of flame into the approaching horde. Fireball after fireball exploded in their tightly packed ranks, until the entire line was a charred, smoking mess. “What good would it do to cage my flames when there are so many to burn?”

“... True, that is a valid point.” There was a pause. “And your control seems to be better, this time.”

Taken aback that Victor noticed, Sienna reacted instinctively. “Damning me with faint praise,” mocked the wizard. “Will wonders never cease.”

“Yes, your fascinating input is well received, as always,” Victor said tersely. “Now stop prattling and get on with it!”

They fought their way deep into the maze of twisting caverns and tunnels. So vile was the power of the newly awakened monolith that its blighted outgrowth stretched for miles in every direction. But for every Nurgle cluster and infection sac destroyed, the Artefact trembled. 

“One more and the foul thing will be buried,” shouted Victor. “Find it quickly before the hordes overwhelm us!” 

Sienna finally spied the last buboe half hidden in the ceiling. Launching a quick tongue of flame at it, the swelling exploded in a shower of pus and acid. All at once, the ground shook and a terrible rumble sounded from deep within the belly of the earth. As the sorcery supporting the excavation unraveled, one by one the heavy chains draped over the artefact shattered.

With a grinding sound, the monolith started to sink back into the earth. Just as Lohner had described, an exit opened up to the right of the last cavern. 

“Quickly,” Kerillian said, dashing swiftly inside. “This way, lumberfoots, before the whole place collapses on us!”

“Right behind you,” called Sienna, switching to her flame sword. Slicing and chopping, she cut a bloody path through the slave rats squealing before her. Large chunks of rock began dislodging from the ceiling as the tremors worsened. As each step brought them closer to sunlight and fresh air, Sienna’s heart lightened. So close now...

An arrow whizzed past, just missing her by a breath. Stunned, Sienna looked up to see a ring of Beastmen archers waiting at the cusp of the rocky chasm. They were just beyond the reach of her magic.

“Fly true!” The elf shouted beside her, unleashing a volley of true flight arrows. Streaming blue-white magic, these arrows locked into enemies with devastating accuracy. A score of archers collapsed, but at least five more were still shooting at them. As Kerillian and Bardin raced ahead to dispatch the newest threat, a high pitched shriek echoed behind Sienna. Heart sinking, she turned to see the dreaded green-garbed Plague Monks bearing down on her. 

Wielding cruel dual blades, these fanatical rats did not go down easily. Dripping with vicious energy and burning with single minded devotion to the Horned Rat, they flung themselves at a target with reckless abandon, shrieking and stabbing until their target or they themselves were finally hacked into pieces. 

Instinctively, Sienna dodged back. She sent forth a bloom of magic, great gouts of flame that burst through them like overripe fruit. They staggered, just as the ground split apart into new fissures. The rock face behind them trembled, land splintering violently into chunks of rock, tree and soil that fell in a deadly rain. Dust rose like a cloud, obscuring vision. The whole place was beginning to collapse.

Fighting down panic, Sienna tried to orient herself, but she could not see the path in the chaos. She could not see anyone. A large boulder crashed down, narrowly missing her by inches. 

A hand grasped her arm tightly. 

“This way,” rasped Victor, white faced. “Hurry!”

Pulling her to him, he led her forwards into a narrow slit in the shaking, rocky hillside. Pressed against his coat, she breathed in the smell of him- leather, gunpowder and blood. Given the combination, it was... more pleasant than she expected. 

“We… we are still too close to the entrance. No fires yet, witch,” he warned, not seeming to notice how close the wizard was to him, and how his hand still rested on her arm.

After several twists and turns, the narrow entrance finally opened up into a larger cavern of impenetrable darkness. There was a musty smell, and the only sound was dripping water from deep within. 

Stepping forwards with a flourish, Sienna conjured up a small ball of flame. Affixing it to the ceiling, the flickering light revealed an ancient forest of stalactites and stalagmites. It felt as though light had not touched this place in centuries. 

“Come,” Victor said behind her. “We can’t...stay in this...place…” His halting words sounded thick and slurred, unlike his usual precise tone.

Concerned, Sienna turned around sharply. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, we need to-” 

Swaying, the Witch Hunter gave a small shiver then toppled over in a heap.


	5. Chapter 5

Cursing, the wizard quickly turned him over. Victor’s pale face was sheened with sweat, and he was burning with fever. The inside of his dark coat felt damp and warm. She gasped as her hand came away sticky with blood.

Damn the man! He was wounded and did not say a single word.

Swiftly, she stripped him of his shoulder armour and coat, taking great care to minimize any disturbance to his wounded side. He groaned as she peeled away the chain-mail and fabric beneath.

A broken arrow shaft jutted out from the right side of his chest. Thankfully, judging by Victor’s laboured but regular breathing, the arrow had missed entering the lungs. But while his chain-mail stopped most of the quarrel’s force, the tip had penetrated deeply enough to lodge into flesh.

Sienna knew that she had to remove it quickly before a nasty infection set in. “Gifts” from the followers of Chaos could not be taken lightly. 

“Victor, can you hear me?”

Pale and drawn, the Witch Hunter nodded once. 

“You have been shot, and I need to remove the arrow before it is too late. Do you have any medical supplies that I can use?”

“... Belt pouch… s-second pocket,” he rasped out, wincing in pain. “Essentials only.”

Sienna quickly retrieved the pouch, pulling out a small bundle tightly wrapped in cloth. Spreading it out on the damp floor, she examined the contents carefully. A pair of steel tongs, crude scalpels of varying sizes, a few rolls of bandages and purified linen, and most importantly of all, a small glass bottle of distilled alcohol. 

Bless Victor for always being prepared. Although not as substantial as a full medical pack, there was enough for Sienna to work with. However, with the absence of any analgesics, Victor would be in excruciating pain throughout the process.

Absently, she brushed away some of the sweat pouring from his brow. He flinched uncomfortably, and Sienna withdrew her hand away. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, fighting to keep her voice even. “I can take the arrow out but it will be extremely painful.”

“I-I am no stranger to pain,” Victor gasped out. “It is far better to endure and continue the fight, than to be dead and of no use. Just do it, witch.” 

Taking his leather belt and twisting it into a roll, Sienna put it between his lips. 

“Bite down on this then, brave Hunter,” she said. “Can’t have you screaming and bringing the vermin down on us. And you will scream.” She added, as Victor looked as though he was about to protest. “It’s not a matter of weakness, but because you are human, no matter how you pretend.”

With the gag placed firmly between his teeth, Sienna then slipped his Holy Deus Sigmar beneath his fingers. The cover was tattered and worn from years of use. She knew that it would give him comfort.

“Have faith.” 

_ I will save you.  _

As Sienna feared, the surgery was long and protracted. While the Lore of Fire also taught the healing arts, it lacked the finesse of the priestesses of Shallya. If Shallya’s arts can be compared to a fine needle, Sienna was a blunt hammer. Bright Wizards were bred for battle, and their healing skills reflected this- cauterize the infection, stem the blood, so that the soldier can return to war. 

Victor was trembling with the effort to not jerk in pain. As Sienna incised the wound to reach the arrow, he groaned, biting down hard on the leather belt. His boots scrabbled uselessly on the damp floor. 

“Just a bit longer, love,” Sienna lied urgently. “I’m nearly done.” 

Despite the cool air in the cave, sweat beaded down her forehead. A wayward drop found its way into her eye, stinging it. Blinking in annoyance, she dragged a sleeve over her face. 

Using the scalpels to further part the flesh around the arrowhead was a delicate process. Too shallow, and the trauma caused by pulling the arrow out could make matters worse. Too deep, and she risked Victor bleeding out. 

When she was satisfied that the wound was enlarged enough, she paused to give Victor a brief respite from the pain. The Witch Hunter’s face was bloodless, a deathlike pallor. The leather belt in his mouth looked almost bitten in half, so tightly had he been biting down on it. 

“You are very lucky,” said Sienna, pouring the distilled alcohol on the steel tongs. “The arrow was not lodged in the bone. If it were, this process would have taken twice as long.”

Victor grunted weakly into the gag. He had opened his eyes, but looked too exhausted to do anything further. 

“But I’m really impressed, Saltzpyre! You took it like a… like a true servant of Sigmar. No wonder you Witch Hunters have the reputation of being tough bastards,” the wizard continued encouragingly, heating up the steel tongs with her flames. “Now I just need you to endure a bit more, and you can finally rest.”

She grasped the arrow shaft. “I’m going to remove this now. Brace yourself!” 

In one swift motion, she pulled the arrow straight from its prison of flesh. Victor arched in agony, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Resolutely, Sienna applied the heated steel tongs onto the raw, weeping skin. Flesh sizzled, and the smell of burning rose in the air. His muffled groans echoed through the hollow cave. 

While it only took a few seconds for the wound to cauterize, the moment felt stretched for an eternity. 

“All done,” Sienna soothed, removing the steel tongs. “And now you will have a lovely scar to show off to the ladies. Can you sit up?”

Victor snorted shakily at that, but he managed to sit up with Sienna’s help. Leaning against the damp wall, he watched her pull out the rolls of purified linen before suddenly realizing that he was very much half-naked.

Clearing his throat, he gestured weakly at the bandages. “You have done enough. I can do this by myself,” he said abruptly. 

“What? I don’t think that is a good idea,” Sienna said, shaking her head. 

“N-nonsense,” he snapped, flustered. “I have suffered worse injuries than this.” He tried to reach out for the bandages, but winced as the effort caused his throbbing wound to flare.

“Are you quite done?” The wizard asked. She noticed with some amusement that the tips of his ears were reddening. Embarrassed, the Witch Hunter kept his gaze determinedly on the ceiling. Sienna leaned in close impishly, chuckling as Victor closed his eyes in affront. 

“I’m not going to bite you, Saltzpyre! Honestly, why are you so afraid of women?” As she wrapped the linen expertly around his chest, she could not help but notice the lean musculature of his body, as well as the many scars of battles long fought.

“I am not,” gritted out Victor. “Unlike you, who seem to have no concept of decent boundaries,  **_I_ ** value my personal space.” 

“That’s rich coming from the man who spied on Kerillian. What was it you said? That it was your vocation?”

“That is entirely different,” Victor said. His eyes had closed again, and his voice sounded thick and drowsy. “The elf is a useful ally, but her behavior reeks of deceit. The wood elves of Athel Loren do not leave their forest easily. Why then does she walk the Empire of men? I want that answered.”

Sienna shook her head as she tied off the bandage. “What does it matter what her past is? Isn’t it enough that she is here helping us?”

“There is something more. Something not right,” brooded Victor. “A tragedy happened at Hoggar’s Bridge, and she refuses to say anything.”

“Kerillian would never betray us,” Sienna said firmly. 

“Never is a dangerous word,” Victor replied softly. “It indicates absolute trust. Have you never tasted the bitterness of betrayal?”

“I-” 

An image rose unbidden in her mind. Beautiful and fiery Sofia, with her laughing green eyes and flaming red hair. Now nothing but a pile of bone and ash.

“Who hasn’t endured betrayal before?” Sienna said lightly. “But I refuse to let it consume my life.”

“That’s… a luxury… that I cannot afford.” Victor’s voice had dropped to a whisper, and he sounded slurred. Looking up, Sienna saw that he had nodded off against the wall. After all the adrenaline and pain, he had finally succumbed to exhaustion. 

Using a scrap of cloth, the wizard gently patted away the sweat sheening his forehead and body. In his vulnerable state, it would not do for him to catch a cold. She placed his treasured pistol and rapier next to him, and then covered him with his coat. Sitting back, she studied him.

Asleep, Victor seemed years younger. That perpetual frown and constantly knitted brows had relaxed into a peaceful mien. As his chest rose and fell, Sienna wondered at what man Victor might have become, if he had not become a Witch Hunter. Lohner mentioned that his father was a village blacksmith. Somehow, she could not imagine the dour, gaunt man as a simple villager, with a brood of children running around his knees.

“He would probably go mad,” mused Sienna. But as she looked at his weary face, now unlit by faith’s fire, she could see the years of thankless burden and service in every grim line and shadow. By sacrificing a relatively tranquil life, he had both saved and doomed countless souls. 

From afar, the wizard had seen her fair share of Witch Hunters before. Some were nothing more than pretentious blowhards, riding on the coattails of their betters and content with petty politicking. But Victor was different. He came from a breed that made the name feared throughout the land. A mortal man with no magic, and yet could vanquish sorcerers, daemons and vampires.

But, she considered, looking down at his sleeping form. He was still just a man, after all. 

She watched Victor for a while, making sure that his breathing was regular. Satisfied that he was in no danger, Sienna set herself to exploring the cave. 

Calling down the orb she had affixed to the ceiling to float above her head, the wizard strode over damp stone. She had no choice but to leave Victor unconscious in the dark- they needed water and she was also perilously close to fatigue. She could not maintain two fireballs in this state.

Aside from the steady drip of water, the cave was as still as a tomb. No insect stirred and flitted in the dark. The stalagmites stood like silent sentinels, motionless in harsh relief against the flickering light. While Sienna was no stranger to being underground, she missed the comforting presence of her companions and their little jabs and banter. In the cavernous silence, her loneliness was amplified. 

The wizard’s thoughts wandered to Kerillian and Bardin, and whether they had escaped back to the Keep or were looking for them. The former was more likely, as the procedure in such an event was escape first, and rescue after. Either way, she hoped that Lohner and Olesya had been informed, and that they were hatching an extraction plan. But she would mull on that later. The most pressing concern was to survive. 

Sienna first backtracked to the place where they entered from. With a sharp intake of breath, she found the small opening completely blocked by stone, soil and broken chunks of wooden rubble. The earthquake must have triggered a cave-in. There would be no escape from that front; they had to find another exit or risk being entombed in the dark. However, the wizard was hopeful. The orb above her head was flickering, indicating that there was some current of fresh air in the cave. 

Stooping, she gathered some of the wooden debris scattered around the blocked entrance. These would be useful as kindling. Once she had set up a small campfire for Victor, she then followed the sound of dripping water to the back of the cave. Her heart lifted as the faint sound of running water reached her ears. 

Raising her orb of fire higher, the light revealed a small stream just ahead, snaking its way among the rocks before vanishing into the dark. 

Sienna pondered exploring further, but decided against it. She was already weary, and the temptation to draw even more from Aqshy was rising. Quickly, she knelt by the stream. The water was chilly against her hand, but smelt clean and fresh. Chancing it, she drank deeply, feeling some vigour returning as the cool water slid down her parched throat. After quenching her thirst, she filled both hers and Victor’s canteens.

The sound of a pebble falling echoed in the dark. 

Alarmed, Sienna immediately doused the light. The cave plunged into a darkness so deep that her eyes might as well be closed. Gripping her sword tightly, the wizard crouched and waited. Had the Pactsworn found them? Or was there some ancient malice lurking in the gloom? There were many horrors that still walked the shadowed places of the world. 

But as the minutes stretched, she heard nothing further except the continued bubbling of the stream. There was no trace of the stench of Skavens and Rotbloods, nor the tell-tale energies of foul magicks. Perhaps it was just an animal after all. Nevertheless, it was by the light of a very tiny orb that she retraced her steps back to the slumbering Witch Hunter.

Unbeknownst to her, red eyes flickered into existence in the darkness. Locked onto the wizard’s form hungrily, they watched her go. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's wishing you a Merry Christmas if you celebrate, and Happy Holidays if you don't. 2020 was not a good year for many, and here's hoping that 2021 will be a far better one. Wishing all of you health and happiness!


	6. Chapter 6

The creature in the dark had existed when Man was young, when the great Tomb Kings of ruined Nehekhara still wore flesh. Unseen, it had prowled darkened hillsides and forests, growing fat on the meat of men careless enough to wander into its hunting grounds.

It had previously made its lair in the shadow of the monolith, but the arrival of the bitter-tasting warriors and stringy rats had driven away the choicest meats. Hungry, it fled from the excavation before it could be detected, and only recently found this cave as a temporary refuge. 

The bloated beast snapped its fangs hungrily. It had been a long time since it tasted man flesh. But the creature was not so foolish as to rush ahead blindly. It had grown cautious in its old age, and had seen the strange fire that hovered around the female. 

Silent as a tomb, the great spider watched the two figures around the lone campfire. Slowly, the creature inched forwards, its eight eyes glinting malevolently. It was patient. It would watch and wait. 

* * *

Sienna leaned back against the damp wall, dozing fitfully. While she had removed the heavy Candlegate from her shoulders as well as the thick leather corset around her waist, her staff and sword lay propped within easy reach. The sound of the pebble discomfited her, and some instinct raised the hairs on her neck.

Although she saw nothing amiss in the gloom beyond the firelight, she could not shake off the feeling of being watched. “What’s wrong with me,” she muttered, shaking her head. “I’m becoming as paranoid as Saltzpyre!”

A sudden movement caught her eye, and Sienna realized that the man was shivering. Although Victor’s eye remained closed in sleep, his teeth chattered and he was shifting restlessly beneath the coat. Moving closer, she touched his brow. He was burning again with fever.

Biting her lip, Sienna pondered what to do. She could always turn the campfire into a raging blaze, but her fatigue and imprecise control held her back. A safer option would be to raise her own body temperature, and warm Victor by proximity. 

Closing her eyes, Sienna opened herself to the sensation of Aqshy swirling through her veins. Although she still felt the raw yearning to draw even more magic into herself, she tempered the feeling, focusing on the shivering Victor.

Faint patterns of light flickered up her body and face, and a comforting warmth emanated from her skin. As she lay next to him, Victor’s shaking slowly lessened. His body, curled in on itself and wracked with chills, began to relax. 

Satisfied, Sienna started to pull away to resume her vigil.

Without warning, a hand snaked out from beneath the coat and grabbed her with surprising strength. Sienna gave a small yelp of surprise as the Witch Hunter pulled her close to his lean chest, one hand draping over her waist. She could feel his warm breath in her hair, the weight of his arm locked around her. 

The wizard froze.

“Uh, Saltzpyre,” she squeaked, looking up into his face. 

He was still sound asleep. Unconsciously his ravaged body had sought for the source of that warm, soft comfort, and now that he had it, he was reluctant to let go. His long narrow hand cradled her like some precious object. 

Sienna suddenly felt too hot, and the heat was not due to her magic. Never in a thousand years did she imagine she would find herself in this position with Saltzpyre.

The man was going to go absolutely berserk when he found out.

Some part of Sienna considered waking him up, and laughing at his sputtering face. But there was also a tiny, traitorous part of her that missed being held, and the sensation of his weight around her was not entirely unpleasant. Ever since Ubersreik, her bed had been lonely for a very long time. 

The warmth around her was making her drowsy. Her eyes started to close, and she leaned her head against his neck, breathing in his scent. Was it really so bad to enjoy this for a brief moment? 

Distracted, the wizard failed to see the creeping menace nearly upon them. 

The giant spider saw its chance.

Scuttling forwards on monstrous legs, it closed the distance between them like lightning. Rearing, two great fangs glistened in the flickering light and a foul reek issued from its pointed jaws. Poised to impale its unsuspecting prey, it struck downwards.

Victor’s good eye sprang open.

Instantly he reached over Sienna for the pistol beside him, firing off all chambers into the monster’s face. Shrieking, the spider staggered back. Great gouts of dark blood drenched the floor. 

Twisting her body, Sienna grabbed her staff and brought it to bear, leveling it at the spider that now filled her vision.

“Die, you Monster!” She shouted. Anger and embarrassment roiled within her, that she could have been so careless.

The runes on the staff flared hungrily as Sienna unleashed dazzling blasts of flame. Patterns of light snaked up her arms, and her hair blazed with the force of her fury. The barrage tore smoking holes in the spider’s body, and it cringed away, trying to flee. 

“Trying to escape now, little spider?” Sienna mocked. “Think you could outmatch a maven of the flame?” Riding high on the thrill of pyromancy, she sent another wave of fire at the creature. Engulfed in flames, the monster folded in upon itself, keening its deathcry in agony. The sickly sweet smell of burnt flesh permeated through the cave. 

With adrenaline and the surge of Aqshy coursing through her bones, Sienna readied another blast of fire. The sigils writhing beneath her skin had split into white hot trails, but she did not care. The day’s events had exhausted her, and she longed to give in to the glorious rush of magic.

“Sienna! That’s enough!” From behind, Victor’s hands closed around her wrists. “Control yourself!”

The Witch Hunter’s sharp words cut through the haze of pleasure, interrupting her in mid-cast. An unreasoning, almost bestial swell of rage rose within the wizard, and in one awful thought, she imagined incinerating the Witch Hunter where he lay. 

But the moment passed. The fire-lust faded from her eyes, and with it came a bone aching weariness. Groaning, she felt her energy seep away as she was finally overcome by lassitude. Her staff slipped from her limp fingers with a clatter. Falling backwards into a shocked Victor, Sienna collapsed, exhausted.

* * *

A cry forced its way past her lips as she sat bolt upright. Heart pounding, the wizard stared at her hands in confusion, wondering what happened to the blazing knife that she was thrusting in old Rambler’s heart, whose loathsome visage had melted into Sofia’s and finally into Victor’s. Taking a deep breath, she heaved a sigh of relief as she realized it was just a nightmare. 

“Be on guard against bad dreams, witch,” Victor’s voice suddenly broke in. “You never know if they are a conduit for heresy.”

“And good morning to you too,” retorted Sienna, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “Or is it good afternoon? Or night? I can’t tell in this blasted cave.”

“Without the sun we can only guess… I would estimate you have been out for close to eight to ten hours.”

“Really? It definitely feels much shorter than that.” Groaning, Sienna stretched, trying to ease the knots in her shoulders and back. “I’m far too old to be sleeping on such rocky ground,” she grumbled.

As her eyes adjusted to the flickering light of the campfire, she saw Victor whittling small skewers from some wooden debris. The dull scraping sound of his knife was rhythmic against the cackling flame. A pile of small fish, cleaned and gutted, was neatly stacked next to him. And above the fire, on pieces of hot stone, lay three skewered fish cooking. The roasting smell made her stomach rumble with hunger.

“Looks like you have been busy, Saltzpyre,” Sienna said, impressed. “That smells wonderful. How did you get the sticks and fish?”

“Any Witch Hunter worth his salt would be able to do at least this much,” Victor said dismissively, not looking up. He was frowning in concentration as his knife scraped off curls of rough bark, revealing the smoother cambium below. “The sticks are from the same source as the kindling. That was good thinking, to bring some of the wooden debris here.”

“Of course. It might come as a surprise to you, Saltzpyre, but I’m not a dunce.” Stretching out a hand, Sienna snagged one of the roasting fish. 

Ignoring the comment, Victor continued. “After yesterday’s… fracas with the spider, I was concerned that there may be more of the beasts. I managed to track down its filthy lair, and thankfully it appears to have been a solitary creature. As for the fish, praise Sigmar but the stream provided.” 

“You really shouldn’t be exerting yourself so much,” said Sienna seriously, taking a bite of the fish. The skin was slightly charred, but the white meat beneath was deliciously soft and flaky. She wiped away a dribble of juice. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for breakfast, but you are still recovering from that arrow wound. If you are not careful, it will bleed again.”

Victor had reworn his stained linen shirt, buttoned all the way up. The cloth was damp and crumpled where he tried to wash off some of the blood, but he could not hide the large rip across the right side of his chest. Through the hole, Sienna could see the white of the bandages, and was relieved to note that they still looked clean.

“Yes, I’m aware of that,” Victor said quietly. “With such limited tools, the surgery you performed yesterday was masterful.”

The uncharacteristic praise made Sienna look up in surprise, and she saw Victor staring at her, as though he had never seen her before. Suddenly self conscious, she looked down, noticing for the first time Victor’s coat pooling on her lap. Sometime in her sleep, the Witch Hunter had covered her with his coat.

She flushed as the memory of his embrace crashed down on her. She did not want to think about how warm his arm felt around her, or the feel of his sigh in her hair. She definitely did not want to think that it was her who laid her head against his neck instead of pulling away. Sienna had just been distracted, too fatigued to think properly. And in any case, a Witch Hunter and a Wizard? The very idea was laughable. 

Glancing at Victor’s closed expression, she wondered if the man remembered any of it. No, it would be far better and less complicated if he did not. Based on experience, nothing good ever came of anyone getting too close to her. Someone always made a mistake. 

So she laughed with a carelessness that she did not feel, and replied, “High praise indeed, Saltzpyre. It’s not like you to be so generous in your approval. Did you hit your head somewhere?”

Victor gave her a withering look. “I give praise where it is due-”

“...Which is as rare as Bardin bathing-”

“You surprised me,” the Witch Hunter cut in, almost in a rush. He looked astonished at the words spilling from his mouth. “I did not expect you to be so controlled in that situation. I fully expected to perish and you-” He looked as though he was about to say more, but his mouth snapped closed and his face coloured. 

“You have my teachers to thank for that,” Sienna smiled wryly. “Part of my college training involved battle experience. I was assigned to a regiment outside Nuln, and patched up many wounded soldiers. They are probably still cursing my name.” She took another bite of fish, chewing thoughtfully. “But I was considered to be too much of a loose cannon to be much use in war. Commanders wanted to know exactly what I could do, and I couldn’t reliably do any of the higher-level destruction spells.”

She shrugged. “I saved many lives by my instinctive spellcasting, but it just wasn’t enough. My teachers despaired of me ever learning the rituals and rules that govern the most ostentatious of spells.” 

“But you are trying now, are you not?” 

“Yes I am,” the wizard sighed. “And you can hear how well I am doing in the Keep.”

“At least you are trying,” Victor declared. “Which is more than I can say for many of the hypocritical rabble that we are trying to protect.” There was a slight pause. “If you wish, I can help you with your endeavour. I have trained for years to close my mind to temptation, and to remember the many rituals that guard against the terror of Chaos.”

At Sienna’s shocked face, Victor scowled, looking away in embarrassment. “But do not misunderstand, witch! I am only offering help as it is for the greater good that you learn to master your flames.”

“I’m just surprised,” the wizard said lightly. To say that she was surprised was an immense understatement. Victor was the sort of man who, outside of duty, wanted as little to do with anyone as possible and considered everyone, with the exception of himself and possibly Kruber, an annoyance.

“But thank you for that. Just don’t regret it if I actually take you up on your offer, Saltzpyre.” 

They lapsed into companionable silence. As Sienna polished off the rest of the fish, her eyes fell on the burnt carcass of the giant spider. It was a massive, hulking thing. Even in death, its dull eyes, large as dinner plates, gave off an air of malevolence. Its open jaws were wide enough to snap a man in half. Repressing a shudder, she thought about how lucky it was that Victor managed to get to his gun in time, before the spider made them its dinner. 

_How lucky..._

A sudden notion struck her then, and she looked at Victor, eyes narrowing in suspicion. 

“I have a question,” she said, gesturing at the dead spider. “The only reason we survived was because you fired that shot into its face. How did you respond so fast?” Her voice caught. “Were… were you awake the whole time?”

Victor shook his head, fingers deftly impaling a fish on one of the finished skewers. “No, I was asleep. But I’m not surprised easily, even when injured. After a lifetime of hunting all manner of infernal beings, most of whom are also trying to kill me, it’s an instinct. Just those few seconds mean the difference between life and death.”

“You mean to say that even though you were asleep, you knew exactly where your pistol was? And you remember nothing else?” Sienna asked skeptically.

“Believe what you will,” Victor said. He was still not looking at her, busying himself with the rest of the skewers. Frowning, he drew his lower lip between his teeth, worrying it. “I don’t have to explain myself. As I told you before, I don’t die easily.” 

“But-”

“We have tarried here too long already,” he interrupted, abruptly changing the subject. He placed the finished skewers on the hot stones and stood. “Once you are done eating, we should try to find a way out. As long as the elf and dwarf did not bungle their escape, Lohner should already be aware of what happened.”

Sienna knew Victor well enough to know that he was not being completely honest behind the bluster. The man guarded his secrets like a steep trap. Why and what was he hiding about last night? She wondered if she really wanted to know. Face reddening, she filed away that thought for a later date. It was probably nothing at all. 

Her stomach growled again, and she swiped another three of the roasting fish. Being cave fish, they were small and stunted, no bigger than her palm. 

“Aren’t you also going to have some, Saltzpyre?”

“I’ve already eaten,” the Witch Hunter said shortly, fastidiously packing his things. Picking up his Watchtower hat from the ground, he dusted it before placing it firmly on his head. The medical tools were already packed neatly in a bundle, his Holy Deus Sigmar resting on top. Grimacing at his ruined belt, he tossed it aside. 

“Well, you should eat more. You are all skin and bones,” said Sienna.

“I don’t believe I asked you for your opinion, witch,” he replied snidely, turning to glare at her. 

“No,” she agreed, digging out a bone between her teeth. Victor looked scandalized. “But I enjoy giving them anyway.”

“You do realize that you are being utterly disgusting.”

Grinning, Sienna stood up, straightening her crumpled clothes. “Thanks for the blanket,” she said, tossing Victor his rumpled leather coat. “I just hope that I don’t end up with lice.” He caught the garment with a sour expression.

Sienna breathed an inner sigh of relief as she reached out for her Candlegate and leather corset. This was familiar, comfortable territory- as long as they were bantering and getting under each other’s skin, everything was the same as it always was. As she rewrapped her chains around the corset, she shoved the memory of last night, and its confusing array of emotions, away as fiercely as possible. 


	7. Chapter 7

When they were ready, the duo made their way to the stream at the back of the cave. 

“This is the only path we can take,” Sienna said, pointing her staff at the darkened end, where the light from her flaming orb could not reach. 

“So it would seem,” Victor replied, unsheathing his rapier. The finely honed blade gleamed a pale blue in the dim light. “With that giant spider living here, it is unlikely that there would be other such troublesome creatures lurking in their filth. But let’s not be too careless. Lead on, Fuegonasus.”

Small, loose stones skittered underfoot as they pressed deeper into the cave. The walls arched above them like a dome, their apex clustered with giant stalactites. Erosion over millennia had worn down solid rock, and Sienna could see the graceful, looping lines that marked the passage of time. While the wizard could appreciate the unearthly artistry, she disliked the cold and the feeling of being hemmed in. 

The path kept narrowing, and soon they were forced to walk knee deep in the rushing water. 

“I hope that the exit will appear soon,” Sienna grumbled, fingers scrabbling for purchase on the damp rock to avoid slipping. “I hate being wet and I can’t swim.”

“Cease your complaining,” Victor said in irritation. He gestured at the flickering orb above her head. “Can’t you feel that the air is different here?”

Sienna looked up, and for the first time noticed the slight breeze whispering across her skin. Embers from her orb spiraled lazily upwards, and she saw, high above them, a small sliver of light.

“There’s another tunnel up there,” said the Witch Hunter, sheathing his rapier. “If I’m not mistaken, and I rarely am, we will find our exit there. We will have to climb.”

_ “Finally, you have figured it out. I suppose my confidence in you both has not been misplaced. The only exit is up.”  _

“Olesya!” Sienna exclaimed in relief. “You are here!”

The disembodied voice, dry and raspy as old leaves, cackled in their minds. 

_ “Yes, it took a while to find you both. The whole site was a mess after that business with the Monolith. That was good work, by the way, although by no means perfect. The Pactsworn are now in a delightful frenzy trying to find us.” _

“Will you be getting to the point soon?” Victor bit out, clearly uncomfortable with the crone’s magic in his head. “How do you propose we get out of here?”

_ “Patience,”  _ the voice said calmly. _ “As you mentioned earlier, you will have to climb. Not an easy task, but I have high hopes for you. You got yourself into this mess, so now you will have to get yourself out. And once you are out, find the waystone. I have work to do now.”  _ Olesya’s voice turned sly.  _ “I’m afraid that magic can’t solve all your problems, Victor.” _

“What did you say? Olesya? Olesya!” He shouted, outraged.

“It’s no use, Saltzpyre,” Sienna said, struggling to hide her mirth. “She’s gone.”

“Sometimes I believe that the only thing that stands between that cantankerous crone and the stake is Franz Lohner,” fumed the Witch Hunter. “She’s lucky that we need her as much as she needs us! Wizards...Bah!” 

“Don’t be sour just because she got one in over you,” Sienna grinned. “At least we now know there is a rescue waiting for us.”

“Yes, well, the old hag has her uses,” sniffed Victor. Placing his gloved hands on the rock wall, he carefully probed for grooves and fissures. He winced as the pain from the wound in his chest suddenly flared.

“Are you sure you are fit enough to climb?” Sienna asked doubtfully. 

“It’s a chest wound, not a decapitation! Of course I am fine,” he snapped. “I-” 

He faltered at the hurt look on the wizard’s face.

“Thank you for the concern,” Victor said awkwardly instead, clearing his throat. “It should be fine. I have climbed before, and in far worse condition than this.”

“I will go first,” said Sienna, her firm tone brooking no argument. “My fire will warm the stone and make it less slippery.”

Victor’s pale face was expressionless. “I have no objections,” he finally said, stepping away from the wall. 

Surprised but pleased, the wizard took his place. She did not consider more deeply why Victor so readily acquiesced his position. Taking a deep breath, she placed her hands against the rough rock and began to climb.

Although she was the fittest she had ever been, it was slow going. Climbing a sheer rock face with limited handholds was not the same as running from the Skaven or slicing through muscle and bone with a sword. Over here, if she slipped, it was a long way down. 

Already the adrenaline coursing through her blood enabled her to do feats of strength she never thought possible. When Victor nearly slipped, and was desperately clinging to a crevice, she managed to haul him up without falling. When her own foothold was nearly dislodged, she pulled herself up to safety with her bare hands.

A piece of rock fell away beneath her hand as she struggled to find a new handhold. Unsheathing her flame sword, she chipped away at the gap, widening it until the space was just large enough to grip. Heart pounding, she heaved herself up another level higher.

“You all right, Saltzpyre?” Sienna called. She did not dare look down for fear she would unbalance, and the stream coursing below was no longer in sight. “Are the handholds close enough?”

“Yes, I’m fine, wizard,” Victor said, although his voice sounded strained. “I’m close behind you, so don’t you dare fall!”

“I’ll keep that in mind if I have the inclination to let go,” Sienna replied dryly. Pressed against the rough wall, she looked up at the corridor of light just tantalizingly out of reach. She sighed. As Olesya said, the only way out is up. Stretching out a hand, she groped for the next handhold. 

Finally, she was almost at the top. Despite the cool air, sweat was pouring down her face, running like rivulets into her eyes and mouth. Her sore muscles screamed. Everything was hurting. 

One more effort, and she pulled herself over the edge and into the glorious light. Gasping for breath, she rolled over, lying flat on her back on the bumpy tunnel floor. Blinking against the glare, she could make out the exit around twenty paces away. Sunlight was streaming in, and she could see green foliage at the end framed by the broad and wide tunnel. Just visible above the leaves, the welcome tip of a waystone protruded. 

“Saltzpyre, we made it!” She called jubilantly.

There was no answer. 

“Saltzpyre?”

Frowning with worry, she turned back to the edge and looked down. 

The Witch Hunter was around two handholds below. Grimacing with pain, he was clutching at his chest with one hand while precariously holding his position with the other. Blood was leaking out between his fingers, falling in crimson splatters over his clothes and the rock below.

Sienna’s hands flew to her mouth. “When did this happen?” 

“Just now, when I nearly slipped,” Victor ground out. Pain clipped his words, and his complexion was ashen. His hand that still gripped the wall was trembling. 

“That long ago?” Sienna said in disbelief. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“What good would that have done?” Victor replied stubbornly. “I would have only distracted you from the climb. If I fell, at least you would survive.”

“Don’t say such stupid things,” Sienna said. Fear made her tone harsh. “You are not going to fall. Hang on, I will think of something.”

“You should go on ahead,” the Witch Hunter said imperiously. “The old hag said that the waystone was close. I just need to rest and I’ll be able to climb out... eventually.” He sounded for all the world as though he was merely talking about the weather, and not bleeding out on a godforsaken crag in a cave. 

“Not going to happen, Saltzpyre,” Sienna said. “We will make it out together.”

“You are being awfully stubborn-”

“And that is news to you? Hush, let me think! Just focus on holding onto the wall, I don’t want to have to scrape you off from the ground.”

As Victor lapsed into a brooding silence, Sienna considered what to do next. From the pallor of his skin and how he was clutching onto the bleeding wound, she knew that his previous words were only bravado. He was in pain, and it was already a miracle he managed to climb this far. 

Time was not on their side. 

Every drop of blood that seeped through Victor’s reopened wound stole away precious energy. Soon he would tire, and eventually lose consciousness. Sienna did not want to think about that possibility. But while he was within reach of her arms, she no longer had the strength to pull him up. And even if she did, such an action would undoubtedly tear his wound open even more. 

As she fingered the chain wrapped around her leather corset, a sudden idea struck her. Hastily, she unhooked the chain at her right side, unraveling it until most of it was pooled on the floor at her feet. With one end of the chain still attached to her corset and the other securely wrapped around her arm, she sat down close to the edge.

“Saltzpyre, I am going to hand some chains to you. Loop them under your arms.”

She carefully lowered the chain to him. After some fumbling, he managed to position it under his armpits like a sling: his back was resting against the middle of the chain, supported by the two ends in Sienna’s grasp. 

Wrapping the excess length around her arm, the wizard tightened the chain. She could hear Victor’s pained gasp as the cold metal drew taut around him. In sitting position, she braced herself with her feet.

Taking a deep breath, she called down. “Try to climb now. Let me know if you need to stop.”

The chain vibrated with tension. Sienna could imagine the Witch Hunter gritting his teeth against the pain, stiffening his resolve to try to climb the last few feet before his strength gave out. 

“Brace yourself,” he simply said, and all trace of that feigned imperiousness was gone. His voice sounded hollow, thin and stretched. Ignoring the fear that hammered at her heart, Sienna started to pull.

Victor’s weight against the chain was heavy. To avoid being dragged forwards as he climbed, she had to use all of her body weight and strength. Knees bent and feet flat against the rough floor, she moved backwards one trembling foot at a time. 

A blood-slicked hand finally emerged over the edge, desperately gripping the floor. Hope flaring in her, she heaved the chain once more, giving an extra burst of strength that allowed the Witch Hunter to pull himself onto the top.

He crawled away from the lip before rolling on his back and gasping. Like a drowning man, his chest heaved as he sucked in deep gulps of air. The shirt around his wound was soaked in blood. 

Sienna scrambled to Victor’s side, the aching in her muscles forgotten. Ignoring his weak protests, she spread his coat open, carefully unbuttoning the shirt and peeling it away from his clammy, sweaty skin.

A frustrated hiss escaped from Sienna’s lips as she caught sight of the ruined bandages, crimson with blood. With no needle and thread to stitch the wound close properly, it must have started to leak again due to the strain from the climb. Unwrapping the dressing revealed angry and inflamed skin. It was an ugly wound, reddish black where it had been cauterized, large beads of blood oozing from newly torn and raw flesh. 

Adrenaline made Sienna’s fingers clumsy. It took her three frustrating tries before she managed to open her canteen, using the cool water to wash her hands and the excess blood around Victor’s wound. Rummaging around his coat, the wizard drew out the last remains of the purified linen. Tearing out a strip, she folded it into a wad.

“Victor, this is going to hurt a little,” she said tersely, attention completely focused on the bleeding wound. “But this will stop the blood flow until we get proper medical help.”

Victor hissed as Sienna pushed the linen wad into the weeping wound, plugging the gap. She then swiftly bound it in place with the rest of the bandages, her fingers busy wrapping the dressing around his bare chest.

“There. This should hold for now,” Sienna said, heaving a sigh of relief. “You-” 

Her words died away when she finally looked at his face. 

He was staring at her, and his expression, oddly intense and vulnerable, was the same as when he first praised her surgery in the cave. At Sienna’s glance, he hastily looked away, the tips of his ears coloured pink.

Suddenly, she became acutely aware about how undressed he was beneath her, his clothes disheveled and hanging open, his tall hat knocked askew on his head. 

Her cheeks started to feel hot. 

Always buttoned up tightly in both manner and clothing, she had never seen him look so…undone. The sight sent a tantalizing jolt straight through her, and an old familiar need awoke from its slumber. It roared to the front of her consciousness, drowning out the voice of reason imploring her to stop. 

Dimly she realized that her hands were still on his chest, his body hot against her palms. In fascination, she slid a hand over the raised patchwork of scars that dotted the landscape of his torso, tracing their uneven bumps and jagged edges. The Witch Hunter let out a shaky breath, and the colour crept high on his pale face. He was still not looking at her, body rigid and tense as though he was in conflict within himself.

Leaning forward, Sienna felt another thrill race through her as Victor shuddered but did not move away.

Reaching out, she gently cupped his face in her hands, compelling him to finally look at her. His eyes slid to a half-close as her fingers grazed the sharp contours of his face, lightly skimming his angled cheekbones before coming to rest beside his ears. She could feel the hint of a five o’clock shadow coarse beneath her palms.

“S...Sienna,” he stuttered, and the little hitch in his throat sent another wave of pleasurable spikes in her skin. She shivered, and wondered what other sounds she could draw from the reticent Witch Hunter’s throat. 

As she bent forwards to catch his lips with hers, a shadow fell across the light that was streaming in from the cave’s exit. Alarmed, she sprang away from Victor, pulling out her sword and crouching in a defensive stance.

As two familiar voices drifted towards her, Sienna broke into a smile. Although they were only silhouettes against the glare of the sun, she could make out the proud feathers of a plumed hat, and the outline of a sturdy axe in the hands of a smaller figure. 

“Oi, Bardin. Do you think this is the cave Olesya was talking about?”

“Wha- why are you asking me Azumgi? How am I supposed to know?”

“Well I thought that since it’s a cave, you would know best. Don’t you have some special affinity with the rock?”

“Of all foolish, kruting ideas-”

“Markus! Bardin!” Sienna exclaimed joyfully, waving her hands. “We are here! Victor is injured.” 

“Sienna, it is you! Good to see you safe,” Markus hailed as he made his way towards her, the dwarf trotting beside him. 

“Aye, Zharrin! I’m impressed. One night with Grimgi and he hasn’t taken your head off!” Bardin laughed uproariously at his own joke, slapping his knee. “Sounds like a tale worth telling over ale!”

Sienna bit down on the wicked comeback that was forming on her tongue. Stealing a glance at Victor, she saw that the Witch Hunter was already sitting up, and had pulled the brim of his hat down across his face to hide his blush.

Smiling, she reached out to him to help him stand. “Here, let me help you up-” 

“Don’t touch me, witch!” He snapped, slapping her hand away roughly. The venom in his voice took her aback. Stunned, she stumbled back, stupidly staring at her stinging palm. He refused to look at her, keeping his eye focused on their approaching comrades.

“Kruber. Goreksson.” The Witch Hunter acknowledged coolly. “This took you long enough.”

“You are a right cheerful one, aren’t you Grimgi?” admonished Bardin, oblivious to the tension building in the cave. “You could be a bit happier to see us rather than the Raki.”

Markus’ eyes were darting between Sienna’s and Victor’s faces. 

“Come now Bardin, it’s hard to be cheerful when you are trapped in a cave with a nasty wound,” said Markus, trying to lighten the mood. “Did you do these dressings, Sienna? That’s a decent job-” 

“Yes, I did them, and I wish that I did not,” burst out Sienna. Whirling on Victor, she shouted, “I should have just let you die, you ungrateful, pretentious bastard!” Furious, she sent an arc of scorching fire over the Witch Hunter’s head and into the cavern below. The man flinched. He was still not looking at her, but she could see that all the blood had drained from his face. 

Ignoring her companions’ shocked exclamations, Sienna ran out of the cave. Stumbling over the foliage, she made her way blindly towards the waystone peeking out between the trees. As the pulsing portal enveloped her, she wished that the ground would open and swallow her up whole. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be a special chapter following Victor’s perspective instead of Sienna's. He is not in a good state at all.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An extra long chapter this time, and the first part will be in Victor’s perspective, before going back to Sienna’s. I also drew an illustration for a scene in my previous chapter, because I really just wanted to draw blushing Saltzfire- Hope that you enjoy both the new chapter and the art!

The wind outside was howling. Already feeble, the meagre light from the candles guttered, threatening to plunge the entire place into darkness. 

Victor sat alone at his cramped dining nook, buttering a crust of bread. He ate mechanically, running through the motions to stop the hunger gnawing at his stomach. The food gave him no pleasure, tasting dry and stale in his mouth. Restless and annoyed, he snatched a report from a pile next to him and stared at it unseeingly. 

This mess was not his fault. 

It was most certainly not his fault that the witch was behaving in such a childish manner, holing herself up in that dump of a room and refusing to come out. If she could only behave in a reasonable and rational manner like himself, this whole thing would have been sorted out in a few hours instead of being dragged out over days.

“I am not coming out until he apologizes,” she had declared, right before she erected that ridiculous cloth covering the hole in her room’s wall. 

How dare she! Victor fumed, the paper crumpling in his hands. A Witch Hunter does not deign to apologize. She had obviously clearly forgotten that she was his prisoner, and he, her jailor. A simple snap of a finger would see her back in chains, begging for his mercy. She was being insufferable and ungrateful.

So then _why_ could he not put her away from his mind? 

Snarling, he pressed the palms of his hands against his throbbing brow. Even now, the witch was appearing unwanted in his head. In his mind’s eye, he could see the little furrow that always creased her brow when she thought, and how clever her capable hands moved when performing a spell or doing surgery. That impish smile, snarky tongue and the feel of her calloused fingers on his face were driving him to distraction.

She had been so uncharacteristically quiet, it was unnerving. In all the times that he had passed by her room in the central Keep (on other business, of course), he had not seen her at all. He found himself wondering if she was eating enough. 

A loud knock on the door jolted him out of his thoughts.

For a brief, irrational moment, his pulse jumped as he imagined that it might be Sienna. Then the door swung open to reveal the smiling visage of the resident innkeeper.

“Ah. Lohner,” said Victor after a pause. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

“Saltzpyre,” the other man acknowledged, stepping into the room. He wrinkled his nose at the dead Skaven ostentatiously splayed on the Witch Hunter’s torture table, right in the middle of the room. While others may have a chest or something valuable as their centerpiece, Victor of course had to have a torture rack augmented by chains and large quantities of dried blood. Lohner carefully skirted the macabre display to join Victor at his dining nook.

“Sorry to have to drop in so late and without warning, but there are things that need to be discussed.”

Without waiting for a reply, he took a seat opposite the Witch Hunter, easing his bulk into the tiny space. 

Victor raised an eyebrow. Not many men would be brazen enough to take such liberties with him, but Lohner was not an ordinary man. 

“The nights certainly are growing colder,” Lohner grunted as he helped himself to a slab of cheese. “How is your chest wound, by the way?”

“It is fine,” said Victor shortly. His eyes glittered in impatience. For some reason, Lohner always felt the need to start every conversation with meaningless small talk before he got to the point.

“Very good,” the innkeeper said, taking a bite of cheese. He chewed slowly before continuing. “I have received, on good authority, information on where our little Warlord friend has made his hideout.”

Victor went very still. His skin prickled with heightened anticipation.

“You mean to say that you have uncovered Skarrik Spinemanglr’s lair?” He said in disbelief. “Impossible! Not even the Stormvermin we captured knew where the Warlord had concealed himself.”

“Yes, we know,” said Lohner, eyes shifting again to the dead rat stretched out on the rack. “We heard the damn thing screaming for hours.” 

“But if we know the leader’s location, then what are we waiting for?” Victor exclaimed, standing up and looming over the innkeeper. After so many fruitless interrogations, he was looking forward to running his blade through the Warlord’s black heart. “Rouse the others! We should make haste-”

Lohner put up a hand. “Not so fast,” he said with maddening calm. “No one is going anywhere until we sort out that problem about the curtain hanging over Sienna’s room.”

Victor gaped at him in stunned disbelief. “What?”

“You heard me. And by ‘we’, I am obviously meaning you,” Lohner said in a hard voice, all trace of affability gone. “This little thing between the both of you has gone on for too long. Obviously the two of you had come to some sort of... understanding in the cave-”

“There was no understanding!” Victor snapped. He could feel his ears growing hot, and he desperately wished that he had on his hat. 

“Ah, to be in the spring of my youth again,” Lohner said dreamily. “Not to be proud, but I was right popular among the ladies. Must have been my dashing good looks and striking figure, I will tell you that. The lasses couldn’t keep their hands off me. I can give you tips, if you like-”

“No,” Victor cut in icily. “Much as I enjoy your… entertaining stories, I would appreciate it if you got to the damn point. There is nothing between me and that witch, and I could get you arrested for even implying such a thing.”

“Fine,” said Lohner, waving a hand dismissively. “That’s your personal business, and I don’t care about that. But what I do care about is our ability to get the job done, and this is interfering with it. If there is nothing between the two of you, then why are you avoiding each other like some lovers’ tiff? You are a Witch Hunter, for Sigmar’s sake, so act like one and fix it!”

Victor’s patience, already stretched thin by his roiling thoughts and lack of sleep, snapped.

“How dare you talk to me this way,” he snarled, slamming his hand on the table. The pile of reports quivered, then toppled to one side. “No matter who you really are, the reach of the Order is long. Take care that you do not go too far.”

“You are welcome to leave,” Lohner said casually, leaning back and taking another bite of cheese. “But if you do, you will never find the Warlord’s nest and all the information on the Skaven I have at my disposal. And that’s not what you really want, innit?” 

His eyes, hard as flint, bore into Victor’s.

The Witch Hunter stared steadily back. He would not be cowed, even though he knew that Lohner was right. He could not leave, not now, when they were finally thwarting the Pactsworn’s plans. If he left this place, he knew fully well that he would have no support. His superiors in the Order would laugh at the notion of the Skaven, and then quietly assign him to languish in some remote outpost. 

And Sienna’s oversight would pass from him to another. His hands curled into fists at the thought.

After a while, Lohner nodded and stood up. “I believe that we have come to an agreement,” he said into silence. Leaning in conspiratorially, he continued. “Now, you didn’t hear this from me, but I heard that our bright wizard will be up on the roof later tonight for some fresh air.”

Victor’s head snapped up at that, and he could not stop the swell of hope and longing that filled his traitorous heart.

Lohner looked almost pityingly at him. “Good luck,” he said simply, closing the door behind him as he left. 

Sinking back down at the table, the Witch Hunter buried his burning face in his hands. He did not understand why Sigmar saw fit to send him such a trial here and now. 

He had always prided himself on his singular devotion to the Order, never allowing any vice or temptation to take root within him. Unlike some of his Brothers who took care of their needs discreetly, or grew soft and eventually married, Victor had always been as cold as iron in this regard. Although celibacy was not a rule among Witch Hunters, Victor viewed intimacy as an unfortunate weakness. That door had closed long ago, or rather, he had slammed it shut and shaken the dust from his boots.

But now, even when he tried to pray, Sienna’s hurt face kept surfacing in his mind. That look she gave him, when he slapped her hand away, kept haunting him. But she had to understand, he had to make her understand, that it was all for the greater good. His purpose was to be Sigmar’s judgement, and to bring down the hammer of His wrath on the unworthy. There was nothing else in his life. Other men could give their women pearls and gold, but his calloused hands were stained only with fury and blood.

Besides, he thought savagely, all women were temptresses, prone to induce the downfall of men. And magic users were the worst of them all, due to their unfortunate affinity to the capricious and chaos-tainted winds of magic. He could not allow the whims of one to distract him from his chosen path. He only tolerated Sienna because she was useful to burn the vermin, that was all. 

Lohner was right. This abhorrent weakness was interfering with his duty to both law and land. It was far better to nip this whole farce in the bud, and set the record straight with Sienna. Surely she would be able to see this, and understand. He tried not to think about how she nearly set him on fire in the cave.

Striding to his stone washbasin, Victor scooped water from a pail next to it and splashed his face vigorously. As the icy water stung his skin, he gripped the sides of the basin tightly and muttered a fervent prayer to Sigmar.

As though readying for war, he pulled on his many layers of leather and armour. Like a protective shell, the layers of clothing over his bare skin not only gave him comfort and security, but projected an imposing aura that discomfited others. A Witch Hunter’s outfit was cut to be intimidating.

It would do well to remind Si... the witch, of their very different stations in life. The heavy chain-mail, polished silver, went over his padded tunic. Pulling together his long leather coat, he fastened it close with sturdy buttons. Thick belts with giant buckles criss-crossed his waist, and dark gloves of fine calfskin covered his hands. And finally, Victor put on his head the tall grim hat of his office, the wide brim casting a shadow on his features and hiding his ears.

Satisfied, and before he lost his nerve, he opened the door of his dungeon and stalked out. He met no one on his way, and was thankful for the lull to gather his thoughts and plans. Victor imagined Sienna raptly listening to his well-versed and eloquent arguments, her large dark eyes intent upon him and that saucy smile alighting on her lips.

Blinking, he suddenly realized that he was already at the wooden ladder leading to the roof. 

The trapdoor loomed above him, dark and forbidding. Resting his hands on the first rung, he was mortified to notice that they were trembling. What an absolute disgrace, he admonished himself sternly. He had faced down the slavering hordes of Chaos. He had driven a stake through a vampire’s heart and burned its undead corpse to ash. He had dragged down princes from their thrones and cast them screaming onto the pyre. He could definitely face one. single. woman. 

Steeling himself, he grasped the ladder’s rungs firmly and began to climb. It was only when he was nearly at the very top did he realize that in his haste to leave the room, he did not bring his rapier and guns. Cursing his carelessness, he considered going back for them, but something rooted him to the spot. 

Eyeing the closed trapdoor, he hesitated. Its iron latch was loose.

Just a peek, he thought, just to check if there was any threat up there, and then he would go.

Stealthily, he lifted the trapdoor open. Stepping onto the cobbled roof, he looked around. The messenger crows in their cages stared beadily back at him, feathers silver black in the light of the pale moon. But aside from a few scattered barrels and stone debris, the roof was completely deserted. Victor felt a strange mixture of relief and disappointment that Sienna was not there. However, that meant he had time to retrieve his weapons, and...

“What are you doing here, Saltzpyre?”

Victor froze, his mouth going dry. Quickly schooling his face into an expressionless mask, he turned around slowly. 

Sienna was glaring at him, arms crossed above that indecent, curve-hugging red dress that she always liked. His heart hammered painfully in his chest. 

“I-I didn’t realize that this place was off-limits,” he said haughtily, trying to hide his consternation. He was supposed to have surprised her, not the other way around. Of all ill luck, she must have come up the trapdoor soon after him. 

“If you are not going to apologise, then I have nothing to say to you,” Sienna returned icily, turning away. She made as though she was going to start climbing down the ladder. 

“Wait, Sie... Fuegonasus,” Victor said, inwardly cursing his stumbling tongue. “Must you always be so impatient?”

“Only to those who show _so_ little gratitude,” the wizard fired back, and Victor felt the sting of her words. She turned back to face him, and her dark eyes were cold and contemptuous. “I’m surprised that such a devout follower of Sigmar could be so ungracious to his allies.”

“I-” Words that usually came so easily to his mouth deserted him. He was uncomfortably struck by how the situation had reversed from when he first chastised her for her loss of control. Then, he had been full of righteous indignation, and she, appropriately contrite and apologetic. But now, because he had allowed himself to be weak, he had behaved in a manner unseemly for a Templar.

“I am not ungrateful for your help,” he said at last. “I thought I made that plain when I expressed praise for your skill.”

“You have an odd way of showing gratitude,” Sienna snapped. “I only wanted to help you up. Why did you spurn my hand? After everything I have done, is it still not enough?”

“You know very well that it’s not that,” Victor bit out in frustration, looking away. “You know… what happened in the cave. It was entirely inappropriate.”

“Well, it certainly looked like you were enjoying it. I believe that you started moaning…”

“How dare you!” Victor hissed. “If you had not seduced me, witch, none of this would have happened!” He could feel his face growing hot.

“Me? Seduced you?” Sienna scoffed incredulously. “Who was the one who embraced me in the middle of the night? I was just minding my own business and you grabbed me!”

“I- I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Lie all you want, Hunter. Don’t blame me for your actions just because **_you_ ** can’t control yourself,” she taunted, throwing his earlier rebukes into his face. “You want this so much that it torments you.”

“Enough, Fuegonasus,” Victor said wearily. “I am a Witch Hunter, sworn to Sigmar, and you are a Wizard. By our very natures, we will always be in opposition. There can never be anything between us.”

“And why not? Who dictated that?” Sienna asked. 

Victor stared at her in confusion. 

A knowing smile curved Sienna’s lips, and the wicked look sent a shiver down his spine. She approached him languidly, slow and confident like a cat. Her long red linen shift fluttered distractingly in the cold breeze.

Victor took a step back, and another, until he was right at the edge of the roof. “What are you doing-” he said thickly, just as the wizard reached out to caress his face with her warm hands. She smelled of smoke and cinnamon, and he leaned into her hands like a man touch-starved. 

“We should not,” he whispered, and his voice was thin and desperate. But he remained frozen in place, and his body trembled as Sienna’s hands drifted downwards to clasp behind his back and pull him close. Her soft breasts squeezed against his chest, and the sensation of her front pressing between his thighs jolted him out of his daze.

Embarrassment and shame flooded Victor, and he roughly grabbed her hands, pushing her away.

“No,” he said in a strangled voice. “Do not lead me into temptation, witch!” Face burning, he brushed past her, wanting to put as much distance between her and his shameful arousal. 

“Victor. Wait!” Sienna’s hand closed upon his wrist. 

“Do you wish to humiliate me further?” He spat, refusing to look at her. “You will regret this-”

“Oh Victor. There is nothing wrong with how you feel,” Sienna sighed in exasperation. Victor stared at her warily, fully expecting her to start laughing and mocking him. 

“But I’m sorry. I may have gone too far, and you were not ready. Shall we start again?”

“...What?” 

“I have accepted your… apology,” said Sienna, smiling impishly at him. Like a shifting flame, she darted around him, as though she had found something new that struck her fancy. The smell of smoke and cinnamon lingered in the air.

Victor continued staring at her, wondering at how her mood could change so swiftly like the wind. And some small, confused part of him wondered what she even saw in him, an ugly man no woman would ever want. Long before he had given his mind and being to Sigmar, he had already known that love, affection and tenderness were never meant for someone like him. Years of derision and scorn had hardened his heart, and the desire to guard against such weakness had calloused into rigid self control. 

“Victor,” Sienna said again, rolling the sound of his name in her mouth. Something curled in his gut to hear his first name spoken so casually. He needed to chide her for her impertinence, but found that he could no longer find the words. The wizard’s hands stole into his own gloved ones, and he could feel her warmth seeping through the fabric and into his skin. Dimly, he registered that she was leaning forward, and her face was suddenly so close upon his. Something soft and warm fell upon his lips, and he was not prepared for the desire that lit up in him like a searing flame. 

Feelings that he thought were long-dead boiled over him, and, Sigmar forgive him, he wanted nothing more than to take Sienna in his arms and crush his lips against hers, tasting the forbidden pleasure of her skin.

And yet he hated himself, hated this unwanted, alien, intoxicating feeling that he was about to lose all control. Instead of the witch, it was now he on the brink of the precipice, one step away from falling to his doom.

Shame, guilt and desire roiled within him, and he felt as though he was standing naked in front of a mocking multitude. 

Wrenching away, the Witch Hunter stumbled back, his eyes wild and hands covering his mouth. Without a word he fled down the trapdoor, leaving Sienna frustrated and alone on the roof.

* * *

Unlike the night’s chill, the day opened bright and fierce. Fingers of light raked through gaps in the crumbling roof, spearing shafts of dust and illuminating the cracked flagstones below. 

Sienna emerged from the Keep’s kitchen, holding a bowl of steaming stew and some bread. As she made her way to the courtyard for her breakfast repast, a tall lithe figure quietly joined her at her side. 

“Sienna,” Kerillian said, her black eyes unfathomable. “We need to talk.”

“Of course, Kerillian,” replied Sienna. “Come join me.”

Despite the mask that hid the elf’s features, the wizard could tell that she was agitated. Instead of her usual, loose gait, her movements were tight and tense, as though struggling to hold back some strong emotion. However, Kerillian said nothing until they stopped at one of the courtyard’s secluded benches, half-hidden in the scattered trees and overlooking the mountain pass below. 

“What are you doing, Sienna?” The elf finally hissed. “I saw what happened on the roof last night. Did you… did you actually kiss One-Eye? Are you out of your mayfly mind?” 

“I am not sure if that is any business of yours, Kerillian,” the wizard said mildly, setting down her bowl and bread on the bench. 

Kerillian started to pace. “I do not know what crude standard passes for beauty among your kind, but you can do so much better,” she fretted. “Have you seen what he does with that false eye of his?” 

“I am not exactly a beauty myself,” said Sienna dryly. “Look at how many wrinkles I have. Pyromancy does nothing for the skin.”

“But One-Eye? Sienna, I know that you must be bored in the Keep, but he is so _ugly_.”

“Really? Well I find him rather distinguished.”

Kerillian stared at Sienna in shock, her obsidian eyes widening above the mask. “Wait. Are you actually serious? I know mayfly memories are short, but not like this. You hate each other.”

“If you really saw us on the roof,” Sienna said slyly. “You would not say that.”

The elf made a retching sound. “Believe me, Sienna, I am only telling you this because I… find you more tolerable than most of your kind. Saltzpyre is dangerous. You know how he feels about magic. One slip, and he is more likely to put a bullet through your glaikit head.”

“Well, I would like to see him try. It might make my life more interesting.”

“Be serious, Sienna! You know who he is and what he is capable of,” said Kerillian, exasperated. “Is it not enough that you play with your obsession with the fire? Why do you court more danger into your short life?”

“Play?” Sienna flared. “I don’t think you meant to use that word.”

“Surely you cannot be serious about Saltzpyre,” said the elf archly. “So it stands to reason that you are merely playing with him in your mayfly way. Didn’t you tell me that you had many lovers before?” 

Taking Sienna’s silence as encouragement, the elf continued. “Blinkered men like him are the most dangerous. Do you think he cares a whit about your innocence? He will change anything to fit his closed, narrow view of the world, even if it means shedding innocent blood.”

“Then perhaps you do not know him enough,” said Sienna.

Kerillian’s eyes widened again in astonishment. “You cannot be serious in defending One-Eye,” she said incredulously. “Honestly, what is wrong with you mayflies? First Kruber, and now you?”

Sienna sighed. “Kerillian, I know you mean well, but listen to yourself. You claim that his mind is like a locked box, but refuse to hear otherwise. Are you sure that it is him who is blinkered and deaf? Why do you hate him so?”

“I know his type very well,” she said coldly. “There is space for only one thing in his life, and that is extracting his pound of flesh for his barbaric god. Not that I care, wizard, but if you insist on playing this foolish game, it will only end badly.”

“I will miss you too, Kerillian,” Sienna called after the elf as she stalked off. There was no reply. Sighing, the bright wizard stood up and stared out over the range of snow capped mountains below. The rugged peaks glistened cold and white in the sunlight. 

Not for the first time, she wondered if she was doing the right thing. Against her better judgement, she had decided that she liked the dour Witch Hunter, and wanted him, and so in her usual passionate and heedless manner had made that known. And she knew that he wanted her too, could see it in his face and eyes and how he seemed to melt into her touch. It was frustrating.

“No matter what the elf says, sir...Saltzpyre I mean, is not a bad person.”

Sienna turned around in surprise as Markus stepped into view from behind a copse of trees. The mercenary was not in his usual gear, wearing instead a simple plain tunic and striped breeches. His hands were raised in apology. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop on your conversation, but Kerillian wasn’t exactly quiet.”

“I’m more surprised that she didn’t hear you,” said Sienna.

The mercenary shrugged as he joined Sienna to overlook the mountain pass. “Think she was distracted. She always is, when talking about Saltzpyre.” He put on a mock, high pitched voice. “ _Kruber, do you really plan on spending the rest of your short life under One-eye's thumb? Why do you still submit to One-eye? It’s so unbecoming_.”

He shook his head, tugging at the ends of his fine moustache. “And she never listens. I have told her again and again why I work for Saltzpyre, but it never seems to sink in. No idea why she dislikes him so, but he’s a good man underneath all that… uhm, layers.”

“You are too loyal, Markus,” grinned Sienna. “Saltzpyre should be paying you more.”

“But… uh... Taal’s teeth, this is awkward, but Sienna, I have to ask. Kerillian kept going on about a game. What’s all that about?”

She rolled her eyes. “Just because the elf dislikes him, she believes that everyone must feel the same way. She thinks I’m stringing him along.”

“So it’s true then,” Markus said, looking as though he did not believe his ears. “You and Saltzpyre are…you know...” He made an awkward gesture with his hands.

“Oh darling, no, it’s far more complicated than that,” Sienna said, shaking her head. “Honestly, it doesn’t have to be, but you know the man. He complicates everything. I’m not sure what we are, or if we are even anything.”

“Yeah I know what you mean. Sometimes you can never tell what he’s thinking, you know? Always clammed up tight in his shell. Not surprising though, given what he’s used to. But who knows, maybe this would be good for him, make him less uptight.” Markus chuckled. “I always wondered…nah, it’s nothing.” 

“Come now Markus,” Sienna said, playfully hitting him in the arm. “You can’t just say that and stop there.”

“He does watch out for you, no matter what he says otherwise. Haven’t you noticed that he is… kind of always there when you need help? I didn’t say anything of course, he would have my hide for sure.” 

“Yes, he is, isn’t he?” She said fondly. No matter where she was in the thick of battle, somehow he was always close behind. “But he will never admit that.”

“No,” Markus agreed. “But he does care about you, maybe he just hasn’t admitted it to himself yet.” He looked around warily. “Best if he didn’t hear that at all.” 

“Thanks Markus,” Sienna said warmly. She looked at the world weary ex-soldier beside her, and a surge of familial affection rose in her. It was a curious thing, how fate worked sometimes. In this ragtag group of misfits, she had found a place to belong.

“Oh, speak of the- here he comes now.” Markus suddenly said, his spine stiffening. 

Sienna’s heart sped up. She turned around to see Victor slowly approaching them. He looked the same as he always did, straight-backed and proud, tightly wrapped in his layers of armour and clothing. But he was only looking at Markus, his gaze passing through the wizard as though she was not there.

“Kruber, a moment. I would like to go through with you our plans to raid the Warlord’s nest-”

“Victor, I-”

“- if Lohner’s information is correct, the fiend is hiding in the depths of Karak Gnol,” the Witch Hunter continued, as though Sienna had not spoken. “The ruins are a treacherous maze, fallen to decay, and it would bode ill for us to go unprepared. However, I have in my possession some ancient maps that I would like your expertise on, Sergeant.”

“Right away, sir,” Markus said, as Victor immediately turned away and strode off. Giving Sienna an apologetic look, he hurried after Victor. 

Swallowing the lump in her throat, the wizard sank back down on the bench. Blinking rapidly, she fought down the urge to throw her soup bowl into the yawning depths below. 

Patterns of light snaked up her face, and she made her way grimly to the line of armoured dummies just ahead. As two fireballs, each a perfect flaming sphere, coalesced above her palms, she imagined each of the dummies wearing Victor’s face.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry that I missed last week's update, I had to settle a family emergency. Hope that you enjoy the newest chapter!

The dwarven ruin of Karak Gnol was one of the scattered many that lay abandoned within the jagged peaks of the Grey Mountains. Despite the lure of treasure, the mountains were largely avoided as the treacherous highlands teemed with many vicious trolls, orcs, goblins… and Skaven. 

The stench hit them even before they had reached the entrance of the abandoned hold. 

“There’s a rat’s nest here alright,” growled Markus, tightening his grip on his heavy executioner sword. “There must be hundreds of them holed up here, judging by the stink.” His knuckles whitened as he held the handle in a death-grip, the massive blade upright and ready. Long and devilishly-sharp, it had been forged to decapitate multiple enemies in a wide, sweeping blow. 

“These markings are the symbols of Clan Fester,” announced Victor, stooping to inspect some crude scratches that defaced the base of an intricately wrought stone column. Straightening, he unsheathed his rapier. The blade hissed as it emerged from its scabbard. “It looks like Lohner was right after all,” he finished sourly.

The entrance to Karak Gnol was framed by two massive pillars, the fine detailing still clear despite the passage of centuries. The grand effect was marred however, by the presence of flimsily constructed wooden barricades stacked haphazardly at the entrance. 

“The ratmen can only destroy and deface. And what they can’t destroy, they make a vile mockery of. An abominable race indeed,” Victor groused, wrinkling his nose in disgust. Raising his rapier confidently, he made to slash open the barricades when a fireball surged past him to smash through it. He flinched back as the flames singed his sleeve, blackening it.

“Yes, yes, we have heard all that before,” Sienna said brusquely, brushing past the thunderstruck Witch Hunter. “Skavens are disgusting. Tell us something that we don’t already know, Hunter.”

She relished the sound of Victor sputtering behind her, which eventually trailed off into a frustrated huff. A smile curved Sienna’s lips. The Witch Hunter’s determination to ignore her could prove very fun indeed. 

Kerillian came up next to her, whooping. Her black eyes were bright with childish glee. “His face, Sienna! You should have seen it. It was perfect!”

“You do realize that I can hear you, elf?” Victor snarled. 

A Stormvermin, slouched lazily against a wall, sprang up in dismay at the sight of them. Chittering in desperation, it struggled to bring to bear its unwieldy halberd. Sienna raised her flame sword, preparing to stab it through. But before she could, a fine, thin blade swiftly extended out next to her, skewering the ratman’s eye and exiting out through the skull with a dull crack. The creature toppled, blood and brains staining the dusty floor. 

Victor strode past her without a word, taking his preferred place at the front. Scowling, Sienna quickened her steps, matching him stride for stride. Together, their boots clacked insistently on the flagstones. 

She could see him glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, shocked at her defiance. Lifting her chin, the wizard shot him a challenging look, grinning fiercely. Her red hair blazed above her head like a fiery torch. Victor hissed under his breath and turned away sharply, keeping his good eye resolutely focused in front of him.

“Uh mates,” Markus said from behind them. “Aren’t we supposed to be stealthy?” 

They both ignored him. 

The entrance soon opened up into a cavernous hall. Despite the air of neglect and decay that hung heavy around them, there was no mistaking the grim majesty of dwarvencraft. In the dimming light, Sienna could make out stout columns inlaid with polished gold, and the giant stone stairs that led down into the yawning depths remained relatively sturdy and whole. While she never liked being underground, Sienna could appreciate the dwarven flair for wide, sweeping spaces. It helped to make the place less claustrophobic.

Unlit lamps, intricately wrought, dotted the walls around them. Elaborate runes glinted dully, hinting at the skill of the dwarves that had toiled long ago in these deeps. If not for the cobwebs that clung to every dusty surface, and the scattered skeletons of dead dwarves sprawled in piles, one could almost imagine the room alight with the song and revelry from an age long past.

“We will need a light,” Victor said. His voice was tight with tension. “I do not relish fighting in the dark, and it is unlikely that any mechanism would still be functioning-”

“In that you are wrong, Grimgi,” Bardin interrupted. The dwarf was staring about him, and his face was full of sorrow. “Dawi-craft was meant to last even unto the falling of the world! Behold!”

Striding to a protruding lever, Bardin threw it open with a clang. As the cobwebs that covered the lever fell into dust, a slow rumble sounded as some ancient mechanism sprang into life. Warm, yellow light roared into being from the unlit lamps.

“Wow,” said Sienna. 

“That was impressive… dwarf,” Kerrillian murmured reluctantly. 

“The skeletons of my kin rot in the dirt,” Bardin said, his voice hard as flint. “They would not have abandoned their home easily. Those responsible will pay for this grudge dearly.”

Victor peered intently at one of the stone columns flanking the entrance of the stairs. “In the imperial records, it was stated that Karak Gnol was overrun a few centuries ago,” he said. “But by goblins, not the Skaven. This is likely incorrect. Look here.”

With a gloved hand, he brushed away a thick layer of dust, revealing markings similar to the scrawls at the front of the hold. A number of symbols had been crossed out and vandalized, and the markings of Clan Fester were the only ones left untouched. “The Skaven have been here for a long time. Other clans have fought for control over this place, but Clan Fester has emerged dominant. It is not that long ago that Skarrik Spinemanglr has made his stronghold here.”

Looking at Victor’s intent face, Sienna felt a little shiver run down her spine. He was still infuriatingly rigid and single-minded, and yet there was something attractive in his intellect and confident bearing. She remembered her fingers clasped between the spaces of his gloves, and how surprisingly soft his lips were against hers. She wondered how it would feel like to bring down that proud facade, to turn the tables and have him trembling with pleasure beneath her. 

There was an awkward cough. 

Coming back to reality, she realized with a start that Victor had turned around, and he was also staring at her. They both turned away at once. Markus looked as though he was struggling to hold in laughter, while Kerillian’s expression was nauseated. Bardin simply looked confused. 

“Am I missing something here, Dawri?”

“If your head is not constantly stuck in your tankard, dwarf, that much would have been obvious,” sneered Kerillian. 

“Why you-”

“Down the stairs,” the Witch Hunter interrupted, hurriedly moving forwards. “The light would have alerted the vermin to our presence. Be prepared for their ambush!”

Glaring at Victor’s rigid back, Sienna was sorely tempted to do more than just blacken his sleeve. While she understood too well that the man was emotionally stunted, his deliberate coldness felt a bit too much for her own wounded pride. 

Trying to ignore her conflicting thoughts, the wizard readied her staff. She could already hear the sound of pattering feet and gnashing teeth growing louder in the stone walls around them. Relieved for the distraction, she felt her skin tingle with anticipation as Aqshy gusted strong around her. Fighting provided a convenient outlet for venting.

The first wave of screeching ratmen came pouring from holes in the walls. 

They swarmed towards the heroes in a verminous horde, drool dripping from their slavering mouths, red eyes alight with malice. These were the Skavenslaves, lowest of the low in what passed for society among their kind. Clad only in a loincloth, they were little more than disposable fodder to tire the enemy before the elites moved in. 

Sienna allowed the fireball in her hand to grow large and hot. Hurling it into the mass of writhing rats, she relished their despairing screams. With an adroitness born of innumerable battles, the rest of the Five fell upon the survivors with pitiless violence. The ground around them was soon littered with corpses.

“This is but the first wave,” Victor cautioned, his good eye bright with hate and disgust. His rapier was splattered with blood and bits of gore. “They will hit us with stronger and even larger numbers soon. We must cover as much ground as we can!” 

He started ahead, but Sienna continued to dog his footsteps, matching him stride for stride. She could sense his annoyance, by the stiffness of his shoulders and the black scowl on his features, but he still refused to acknowledge her. The wizard knew that she was being petty, but she did not care. She did not deserve to be treated so.

Together they strode over crumbling stone and wooden scaffolding, relentlessly killing any unfortunate rat that stumbled upon their path with flame and fury. And wherever she could, she stole Victor’s kills, slicing off heads or blasting bodies with fire before he could wet his blade. His hisses of frustration were music to her ears.

The trail led onwards into a dim corridor, which abruptly ended in a sheer drop. The narrow view opened up into a breathtaking expanse of dwarven architecture and ancient rock. Sienna could not help but stop and admire the sight. 

Although they were deep within the mountain, large shafts had been bored through to the top, allowing the cold light outside to shine in. Beams of light speared through the abandoned hold, illuminating its sheer depth, where the dwarves had tunnelled long and deep. 

“Looks like we didn’t need to worry about lighting after all,” marveled Markus. 

“Us Dawi are a practical folk,” said Bardin proudly. “Why waste resources when the mountain light will do just fine in the day?” 

A long, broad bridge below connected the side of the mountain that they were standing on to another. It sat against a backdrop of three tall waterfalls, their impressive crests flanked by dwarven heads carved from granite. The statues’ hollow eyes stared down balefully.

“That bridge,” said Victor, gazing keenly at it. “Its description is an exact match of the Duraz Stromez. If the ancient maps are right, that is where we must go to next.” 

“Over here, Lumberfoots,” called Kerillian, looking over the drop on the left. “If you are done gawking, the path continues here.”

“Let’s go then,” said Sienna grimly, her fingers tightening their grip on her staff. She could hear the sound of skittering and scratching deep within the walls around them, and the unearthly clanking and hissing of diabolical Skaven machinery heralded the arrival of the Warpfire Throwers. “We have company.” 

“Bardin and I will watch the back,” said Kruber, turning around. He raised his heavy sword high. Streaks of dark blood already marred its polished surface. “Stay close and hold the line! The rats will try to encircle us.” Like a shadow, Kerillian silently leapt onto a small rock outcropping jutting above them. With a skilled hand, she notched an arrow to her bow, drawing the bowstring back. 

Sienna could feel Victor moving closer to her side, tense and alert in anticipation of the next wave. He had drawn his pistols, coolly waiting for the Fire-rats to show their vicious heads. Despite her frustration with the man, she was oddly aware of him, as though there was an invisible line connecting him to her. It was strangely comforting to see him in her line of sight. 

She wondered if he felt the same way. 

“We make a good team, don’t we, _Victor_?” The wizard drawled. He started visibly at her voice, as though he did not realize he had closed the gap between them. Certain that he was looking at her out of the corner of his eye, she let a fireball bloom above her upturned palm. She let it grow to the size of a melon, before limiting the flow of Aqshy precisely. 

The Witch Hunter’s eyes widened, shock and surprise flitting across his face.

“And that’s not all I can do now, Hunter,” said Sienna triumphantly. “Watch!” Taking a deep breath, she opened herself again to the intoxicating rush of magic. Muttering a series of complicated mantras, the fireball in her palm began to split, the agitated surface churning and boiling. Streams of flame bounced along the surface, constantly twisting and writhing into new sinuous shapes.

As the next tide of loathsome rats finally crested the ledge they were on, she unleashed a flurry of incandescent missiles that arced high above before coming down in a deadly rain. The barrage ranged far and wide, wreaking havoc among the squealing, shrieking vermin. The Skaven attack faltered. Although Sienna still could not maintain the projectiles for more than a few seconds, it was enough to decimate and incapacitate most of the advance pack.

As the common Skaven fell in burning heaps, the two Warpfire Throwers hiding in the rear were soon revealed. Desperately they clanked forward, trying to get within range to douse the heroes with sizzling green ooze. A devious invention by evil minds, Warpfire was a chemical engineered to burn and cripple its victims in seconds.

“Scream-suffer, Man-things!” One of the creatures shouted in its rasping tongue.

Victor’s lip curled, and he fired off two shots unhesitatingly. The bullets tore into the Warpfire Throwers’ main vulnerability: a tiny exposed section of their volatile fuel tank, just visible above their shoulder guards. The tanks exploded in a sea of ghastly green flame, engulfing the rats unlucky enough to be within range of the blast.

Sienna gazed at the carnage appreciatively. The thick stench of charred fur and flesh was overwhelmingly perfect.

“With your steel and my flame, we would be unstoppable,” she said softly, looking at Victor. It was an unspoken promise, a glimpse of possibility in an uncertain, bleak future. 

Victor went very still. He looked as though he could not trust himself to speak.

“You cannot ignore me forever,” Sienna said flatly as she brushed past him. “My patience has a limit, and it’s a very short one.”

The heroes fought their way down and past the bridge, systematically cutting through the hordes of squealing rats. As they rounded the bend to the next section, two armoured Stormvermin sprang out at them, halberds already raised to strike. Instinctively Sienna sensed Victor tensing to thrust, and so she struck hard at the other through the chest just as its companion’s weapon came whistling down. The lunge threw her off-balance, but Victor’s blade was a blur beside her. There was a wet gurgle, and the ratman toppled back, clutching at its mangled throat. 

“Be careful!” Victor snapped, gripping her arm to steady her. 

“My saviour,” cooed Sienna, batting her eyelids at him. “How ever would I have survived without you?”

Flushing, the Witch Hunter dropped his hold like a hot potato. Growling with annoyance, he turned to slash open the neck of an unfortunate Skaven attempting to sneak up on him. 

“Are you still going to ignore me?” Sienna demanded, stabbing another ratman through the belly. Fighting back to back, she could feel the warmth of his coat pressing against her back, the sensation sending tingles in her skin. Victor let out a long, low breath. He still said nothing, but did not pull away as well. 

Stiffening suddenly, the Witch Hunter froze. Slamming his sword back into its scabbard, he turned towards Sienna, grabbing her by the shoulders and pinning her swiftly against the stone wall. 

“Wha-”

Victor clamped a gloved hand over her mouth, stifling her cry of surprise. Leaning in close, he pressed her deeper into the wall, shielding her body with his. His good eye was wide with alarm. Sienna could feel her heart pounding. She stared above Victor’s hand, looking at him, too shocked to move a muscle. He had never done this before. 

She heard it then, the sound of heavy steps growing steadily louder. On another ledge above them, a heavily armoured Stormvermin patrol marched. 

It was only a patrol, Sienna thought, raising an eyebrow quizzically at Victor. Between the five of them, dispatching those armoured rats should not take much effort. Victor shook his head, gesturing above with his sword hand. The faint sound of a high pitched, maniacal laugh turned her cold with dread. Dull heavy thumps, offbeat from the Stormvermin’s precise marching, drew closer. 

A Stormfiend was following behind the patrol.

She now understood Victor’s concern. They were on a narrow ledge high above the ground, one of the worst possible terrain for such a battle. If it came down to a fight, there was a high risk of them all being swept off due to the Stormfiend’s heavy attacks. The rest of the Five quietly melted into the shadows beneath the ledge, to avoid drawing the patrol’s attention.

As the sound of marching drew closer, Sienna’s stomach clenched. Pressed against the wall, it was a new feeling for her to be protected as though she was someone precious and valuable. She was not sure how to feel about it, and besides, Victor was entirely too close. She could smell his scent, that heady mix of leather, gunpowder and something undefinably him. Distracted, she watched the rapid rise and fall of his chest as his breath came in shallow, fast pants.

With a start, she realized that the hand on her face was trembling. Slowly, Victor withdrew his shaking fingers, releasing her lips. His grey eye was still locked on her, and his expression, half hidden in the shadows, was hungry, intense and pained. She doubted if he even realized how much he was staring at her. 

And now that she was so close to him, she noticed with concern that he looked haggard. His already pale skin was pallid, and the shadows that always hovered beneath his eyes were darker and heavier. He looked as though he had not been sleeping for days.

It was then that she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, how much he wanted her, and how much it was costing him. He was a man deeply conflicted within himself, and it shook her, as Victor’s relentless focus defined him as much as the flame did her.

As the sound of the patrol and Stormfiend receded into the distance, everyone started to breathe again. Kerillian was the first to move, swiftly scouting ahead. Markus and Bardin followed next, heavy boots clomping on the hard stone path.

“Victor, we will need to talk. Not now, but later,” Sienna whispered urgently, looking up into his tired face. 

“This changes nothing, witch,” he replied hoarsely, closing his eyes. His arms dropped stiffly to his sides.

“If we do not talk, it will only become worse for you. Trust me.”

“I do not need your help,” the Witch Hunter growled, stepping away. “Sigmar is enough for me.”

Sienna threw up her hands in exasperation at his retreating back. Enough was enough. By fair means or foul, she **_would_ ** make him listen. 


	10. Chapter 10

As they ventured deeper into Karak Gnol, the sturdy dwarven structures soon gave way to a slipshod warren of narrow, densely packed rat holes. A grotesque mockery of human homes above the surface, it was a wonder that the jumbled mess of rotting timber and packed dirt could even stand upright. 

The dreadful stench of musty fur and urine was almost unbearable. Despite his years of experience, Victor could feel his stomach churning, and was thankful that he only ate a light breakfast that morning. Bardin did not fare so well, and had emptied the contents of his stomach into a putrid ditch.

Stealing a glance at Sienna, the Witch Hunter saw that she looked pale but was otherwise fine. However, she was still glaring at him, mouth set in a grim line. 

Knowing that he was likely the source of her exasperation irritated him, the unsettling feeling crawling under his skin like ants. Ignoring the wizard had proved far more difficult than he anticipated. Why was she so confounding and vexing?

He still had no idea what possessed him to press her against the wall. When he heard that faint, shrill laugh of the Stormfiend, it was as though a fog had descended on his mind. All he could think about was the threat posed by the monster and patrol on that narrow ledge, and the overwhelming fear that Sienna would somehow get thrown off. Before he could regain his senses, he had already pushed her away from the edge, shielding her body protectively with his. 

And once in that position, self control became even more difficult. Her eyes looked so vulnerable then, in a way that he had never seen before. It made him want to wrap his arms around her and pull her close, and it had taken all of his willpower to keep his hands stiffly at his sides. His hand trembled as he remembered the contours of her face, and the heat pouring from her skin.

Forcing himself to turn away, Victor struggled to compose himself. There were urgent issues at hand that demanded his attention. Based on the maps he had memorized, they were already close to the Warlord’s lair. It explained the sudden lull in conflict, as though all the remaining rats had pulled back to await the final confrontation. 

The Witch Hunter was under no illusion that the fight would be bitter. One did not rise to the apex of Skaven hierarchy without possessing exceptional ferocity, strength and cruelty. 

Scattered human bones crunched under his boots. Despite his best efforts, there were too many of them to avoid entirely. In line with Skaven viciousness, the final trail that led to the Warlord’s lair was full of broken bones. They had been tossed carelessly on piles of dirt, each of them gnawed clean. For all the horrors Victor had witnessed, the sight of each precious life lost to Chaos still filled him with sorrow and rage. These were the Empire’s own, Sigmar’s own, and yet the ratmen saw fit to defile them. 

In the false calm before the storm, the group had paused to replenish their ammunition and patch up their wounds. Although the stone corridor they were in had been shaped by dwarven hands, it was heavily corrupted by Skaven influence. Sickly green light shone from Warpstone Lanterns, and the fine detailing was buried under piles of dirt, rubble and bone.

And all around them was that hideous rat-stink of filthy fur and open sewers.

Eye flicking suspiciously at every shadow, Victor prowled around the edges, rapier at the ready. He carefully avoided where Sienna stood, but still kept her within view.

Coldly and methodologically, he drew on his vast knowledge of the Skaven, his mind cycling through the many different scenarios and possibilities when fighting the Warlord. 

Pitching his voice low, he said to the rest, “The vermin Warlord will almost certainly challenge us alone in the beginning. He will do this to avoid showing weakness to his opportunistic brethren. That will be our window of opportunity.”

“Aye,” Markus agreed. “And this blighter is likely to be heavily armoured. We must strike him hard and fast. Once down, the rats will be too busy fighting among themselves to care about us.” 

“So the same plan?” Kerillian said in a bored voice. “The wizard and I will hit the scunner from the back with our ranged attacks, and you three lumberfoots rush at him with your clumsy weapons?”

“It is a plan that has served us well,” Victor said coldly. “You are free to do whatever you want, elf, just don’t get in our way!”

Kerillian muttered under her breath, but thankfully said nothing further. 

“We will spread out and attack him on all sides,” continued Victor. “Kruber, Dwarf, we will fence the Warlord in a triangle, so he will not know which side to attack. Skaven Warlords are not particularly known for their intelligence. Elf, if you decide to not be so mercurial, shoot his face full of arrows.”

“What’s my role then, Hunter?” Sienna asked suddenly. 

Everyone went very quiet. 

Bardin inspected his axe with an air of exaggerated interest, while Markus suddenly found a patch of ground highly fascinating. Only Kerillian continued looking at them, her black eyes darting back and forth between the two.

Victor swallowed. He hoped that the wizard would not say anything. In truth, he had been astounded at how much control she now had over the flame. The last time he saw her practice, she had nearly blown up her room in frustration. And now she had enough mastery to call down a storm of flames without being consumed in the process. He had no idea what she did, and that uncertainty niggled at him.

A Witch Hunter only dealt in absolutes. It had been drilled into him, ingrained into his very being, and was one of the reasons why he was still alive when so many of his peers had fallen. Anything that could not be explained, was to be treated with suspicion until the truth was fully revealed. Even if he had to work with others of…  _ suspect _ qualities, he trusted only himself.

But Sienna was threatening to unravel all his closely held principles. For the first time in his long career, he was tempted to not look too closely at what she was, but rather on the possibility where she and him would be more than reluctant allies. Sigmar willing, they would vanquish the Pactsworn howling at their gates. But after that? 

What was it that she said?  _ With your steel and my flame, we would be unstoppable.  _ A shiver coursed over him. Aside from his attraction, he would be a fool to ignore the implication. He knew that the Order was gravely underestimating the threat of the Skaven. For so long, he had been on what was essentially a one-man crusade against the Under-Empire, dealing in lies and half-truths in order to get the resources needed to fund his personal mission. With Sienna at his side, he could be so much more effective.

However, such a union would undoubtedly draw heavy scrutiny from his enemies in the Order. Already his own standing had come under fire after Skaggerdorf, and this would yet be another nail in the coffin of his pride and reputation. He could already hear the whispered accusations of corruption and misconduct. As he was only the son of a lowly blacksmith, with neither connections nor lineage to protect him, everything that he worked for would be for naught. 

Again, he was filled with the urge to ignore her until he could sort out his jumbled thoughts. Torn between his desire for her and his desire for certainty and control, it was a distraction that could prove fatal in battle. However, her question was valid. For the sake of the group’s cohesiveness, he had no choice but to respond.

“Your powers have certainly grown,” he finally said, as indifferently as he could. “That skill with the projectiles… how often can you repeat it?”

“Not that often,” admitted Sienna, leaning on her staff. “It consumes a fair bit of magic, and I will not be able to use my flames for a while after casting.”

“I see. Then use that only as a last resort,” Victor returned. “Use your regular fireballs to stagger the Warlord, and help us to watch out for any vermin attempting to attack us from behind.”

“So you trust me to have your back now, Victor?” Sienna asked challengingly. Looking at her face, and her expressive eyes ringed with kohl, Victor felt a pang in his chest.

“I always have,” he replied without thinking. And then, realizing what he just said, he spluttered defensively. “I- I mean, we need your flames, witch. Don’t squander our trust. Now, if we are all done lollygagging, we have a Warlord to exterminate.” 

Turning around, he strode stiffly forward, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes. 

“A moment, Grimgi,” Bardin trotted next to him. 

The Witch Hunter sighed. “Yes, Goreksson?”

“I heard tell that you are sweet on Zharrin,” the dwarf rumbled bluntly. Victor could hear a gasp behind him, that descended into fits of choked coughing. He could feel his ears reddening beneath his hat. 

“Oh for the love of -, now is  **_not_ ** the time!” Victor snarled.

“I know, I know,” said Bardin, trying but failing to bring his voice down to a whisper. “Just hear me out-”

“If I want advice, I will ask for it,” Victor said through clenched teeth. “Do not test my patience, dwarf, it is hanging on a very thin thread.”

“Right,” continued Bardin, unperturbed. “What I want to say is that Zharrin is a fine woman. A little taller than good manners dictate, but her heart is as sturdy as Gromril steel. She would make a fine and hearty companion.”

“Dwarf,” Victor said warningly, rubbing his throbbing temples. “I am only tolerating you because the Warlord is just around the corner-”

“My friend, your manling life is too short for regrets,” Bardin said. Something in his voice gave Victor pause. “Inaction due to stubbornness can cause you long regret and longer grief.”

Looking at the dwarf closely, the Witch Hunter was shocked to see tears standing in his eyes. Harrumphing loudly, Bardin quickly dragged the back of his hand across his eyes, grumbling about dust. 

“I have regrets that I will carry with me for the rest of my days, Grimgi,” He continued quietly. “I do not wish the same for you.”

Victor was at a loss for words. They were friends (insomuch that a Witch Hunter could have friends), but they did not talk about such matters. Some things in the past were better left where they were, buried in the sands of time. What could have brought this on from the dwarf? He had always suspected that there was some deeper reason behind Bardin’s quest for his lost hold. Despite his loose tongue and raucous cheer, Victor had never once heard him mention his family. 

Raising his voice, Bardin hefted his heavy axe. The blade glinted in the dim light. “Time for a carnage, drengbarazi! Lohner owes me good beer for all this work.”

“Yes, Goreksson,” Victor said, thankful for the change in subject. By the footfalls behind him, he knew that the rest of the Five had been following them. They had reached the end of the corridor. One more step, and they would be in the Warlord’s lair. 

Steeling himself for the fight to come, the Witch Hunter raised his rapier. “Let the halls of your kin run red with Skaven blood!” He roared. “By Sigmar and the Hammer, we will strike the foul beast down!”

With a last, quick glance at Sienna, Victor jumped down first into the stinking pit. 

The soft dirt absorbed the impact of the drop, and he heard soft thumps around him as his companions joined him. He was soon flanked where he stood in defiance: Markus on his right, Bardin on his left. And protecting their vulnerable backs, he knew that Sienna and Kerillian were lying in wait. 

Looking around, Victor noticed that they were enclosed on all sides. The only way out was in front of them, through a crude, tiered structure made of overlapping planks and dirt. More than three times a man’s height, the Witch Hunter’s lip curled as he realized that the insipid and ramshackle pile was supposed to be a throne. Ragged banners with the gold insignia of Clan Fester hung limply from the top. 

Red eyes gleamed hungrily at them in the shadows. All around them was the sound of shifting, restless bodies. However, the rats made no move to swarm forward. As Victor predicted, they were content to watch and wait. For now.

Suddenly, a heavy silence fell. As one, all eyes turned towards the top of the throne. 

Victor felt the hairs rising on his neck.

Skarrik Spinemanglr, Stormvermin Warlord of Clan Fester and vassal of dread Clan Pestilens, had arrived. 

The rude throne of wood and dirt shuddered as the beast climbed atop it. Compared to the other ratmen, Skarrik was a veritable giant. Standing much taller than a man, he towered over them, red eyes glaring out from beneath a spiked helm of steel and iron. Wicked stakes protruded from a metal rack strapped to his armoured back, through which the skulls of his many enemies were impaled. The empty eye sockets stared sightlessly above him. 

“No-furs sent-kill?” The Warlord rasped mockingly. “Ha! Skarrik mighty! Skarrik not afraid! Come-come to die!” The Skaven shrieked, rearing to his full height. His rope-like tail lashed. Brandishing two jagged swords, the cruel edges serrated and soaked in blood, he leapt down into the pit. 

Victor instantly darted forward, slashing at the throat of the Warlord. While his blade tore through the rat’s heavy cloak bunched at the neck, he hissed in frustration as his rapier screeched on metal, Skarrik’s armour of interlocking metal plates turning his blade aside.

Laughing scornfully, the Warlord lashed out at him, the jagged sword a blur as it lanced towards Victor’s chest. Alarmed, the Witch Hunter hurled himself to the side, feeling his coat snag and tear on Skarrik’s blade. From the corner of his eye, he could see the Warlord raising his other sword to strike.

“Get off him, blackrat!” Sienna yelled. “I‘ll burn your tail off!” A fireball smashed into Skarrik’s side. Snarling, the rat stumbled, giving Victor precious seconds to scramble out of reach. Both Markus and Bardin struck at the Warlord with their sword and axe, but their furious strikes made little more than dents.

“We can’t pierce that armour,” Markus shouted. “Kerillian!”

“Mayflies, move!” 

The heroes scrambled out of the way as the elf unleashed a barrage of arrows onto the Warlord. 

Skarrik sneered. Puffing out his chest and throwing back his shoulders, the hulking rat allowed the arrows to strike at him. Victor’s eyes narrowed when he saw that none of the arrows found their mark, all of them clattering uselessly on the dirt-streaked floor. 

“There is some foul magic lingering in that vermin’s armour,” Kerillian spat. “It turns the arrow and blade aside.”

“Weak-frail no-furs!” The Warlord taunted. “See-see Fester-kin? Man-things no-no match for Skarrik!” All around, the spectator rats started to chitter in excitement. Whiskered snouts quivering, they started to creep forward. Victor growled in frustration. Their window of opportunity was rapidly closing.

“Elf,” he said in a low voice. “Magic is not infallible. There must be some gap. Do what it takes to find out where he is weak.” 

“Fine, One-Eye,” Kerillian said tersely, notching another arrow to her bow. 

“Kruber,” Victor said, raising his voice. “You will be of no use there for now. Protect the elf! The rats may be ready to swarm. Goreksson, I need another few moments. Can you do that?”

“You don’t need to tell me twice, Grimgi!” With a curse on his lips, Bardin gave a great leap, slashing down on the Warlord’s head with his axe. Skarrik dodged back, crouching and raising his twin blades defensively. A sharp clang resounded as the axe hammered on them.

Victor turned towards Sienna. She was staring at him, worry creasing her brows. Heat was radiating off her in waves, as she drew the fires of sorcery into herself. 

“Sienna…I mean, Fuegonasus,” Victor said, clearing his throat. He cursed his awkwardness. Everytime he looked at her, he could feel his throat threatening to close up. “I need your flames. You-”

“I know,” she said, reaching out to clasp his shoulder. Her touch sent a shudder through him. “Do what you need to do. I will protect you.”

Victor nodded tightly. He lingered for a moment, drinking in her face, her hair and her eyes. In a space of a heartbeat, he became acutely aware of his own human frailty in the face of overwhelming odds. For the first time in his life, he realized that he was afraid to die. 

On an impulse, he grabbed her hand on his shoulder and squeezed it. Letting go hastily, the Witch Hunter turned away, grimly facing the Warlord. 

Skarrik was roaring with rage. True to form, Kerillian was sending out one probing arrow after the other, targeting any visible gaps in the creature’s layers of armour and chain-mail. Already one arrow had sunk into the rat’s elbow, blood dripping onto the floor. As the dwarf continued to harrow him with rapid strikes from his axe, another arrow pierced the Warlord in a tiny gap in the armpit.

Lifting his brutish head, Skarrik pointed a clawed finger at Kerillian. 

“Fester-kin! Kill-kill! Kill-kill Elf-thing!”

Like a black and brown tide, chittering ratmen began to pour into the pit. They swarmed towards Kerillian, raising their crude weapons. Trusting Markus to protect the elf, Victor sliced his way towards the Warlord. His rapier cut deep into the nearest ratman, parting flesh and spilling hot viscera. With a snarl, Victor’s steel-tipped boot crunched onto the twitching carcass.

Metal glinted on his right.

Twisting his body, the Witch Hunter narrowly dodged the oncoming blow just as the rat’s head burst into flame. Fireball after fireball exploded into the mess of rats before him, helping to clear a burning path to the Warlord.

Victor hastened forward. Skarrik’s back was towards him, his attention solely fixed on Bardin. The dwarf was panting loudly, his face twisted in a grimace of pain. Blood was pouring freely from a nasty gash on his upper arm, the wound jagged and raw. 

The Warlord reared, raising his dual swords for an overhead slash. 

With a shout of rage, Victor stabbed into the gap in Skarrik’s left elbow, his fine thin blade cutting in deeper than Kerillian’s arrow. However, the magic that resided in the armour was strong, and Victor had to use all of his strength to sink his blade into flesh. 

Snarling, the Warlord spun around in a blur of teeth and fur. The Witch Hunter instinctively dived to the ground. He heard Skarrik’s blade whistle overhead as it slashed the air where his head had been. 

Spitting dirt from his mouth, Victor scrambled to bring his rapier up in a defensive guard just as Skarrik dived down in an overhead attack. Pain drove the Warlord to new heights of ferocity, and it was only because his left arm was severely weakened that Victor survived the next assault. The Warlord’s twin blades slammed down onto his rapier in a devastating blow, breaking through his guard and slicing the skin above his eye. Hot blood gushed from the stinging wound, pouring into his good eye and blinding him. 

The Witch Hunter stumbled, desperately trying to staunch the blood. 

Above him, he could hear Skarrik’s jarring laugh. “Haha! Hat-man down! Other eye for Skarrik to eat-eat!”

Blindly, he lashed out with his rapier, but the swing cut only air. Death was near. In a moment he would feel the bite of the Warlord’s blade in his neck- 

“Victor!” He heard Sienna scream above the chaos. “Jump backwards,  **_now_ ** !” 

Filled with adrenaline, his body instantly obeyed. As he sprang back, he could feel the air in front of him sizzle with heat. Sienna had unleashed her barrage of fire.

The Warlord shrieked. 

Gritting his teeth, Victor pressed the cut in his forehead harder until the blood finally slowed to a trickle. Blinking through a haze of red, he looked up to see Skarrik stumbling in agony in a sea of flame. The Warlord’s protective armour was now a cage of red hot metal. Screeching, the ratman tore at the leather straps binding the armour to his chest, tossing it away.

Victor could see Skarrik’s skin blistering, fur falling out due to the intense heat. It looked as though the foul enchantment interwoven in his armour did not guard against magical fire. Smiling savagely, Victor spotted his chance. Rapier at the ready, he made to dash forward when a shout distracted him.

He looked back to see Sienna desperately holding off an onslaught of rats. Her sword, usually ensorceled with savage fire, was dull. With dawning horror, Victor realized that to generate the terrifying heat of her barrage, the wizard had used the last reserves of her magic. If she took in any more, she ran the risk of being corrupted. 

“Kruber-” Victor started to shout, but he saw that the mercenary and Kerillian were already assaulted on all sides by Skarrik’s own armoured cadre. A quick glance to his right saw Bardin similarly occupied.

A Clanrat sneaked up behind Sienna, raising a bloodied meat cleaver. Heart in his mouth, Victor hastily drew his pistol and fired. But the blood in his eye threw off his aim, and his bullet, instead of tearing into the skull, shattered the clavicle. The creature howled, clutching at its ruined shoulder, but not before its blade sliced into Sienna’s back. The wizard cried out as the Skaven swarmed forward, noses twitching eagerly at the smell of blood and fear.

And in that instant, Victor made a decision. 

Turning, he stabbed his rapier deep into Skarrik’s exposed neck. The Warlord gurgled, mouth frothing with blood.

A terrible silence fell. 

All around, the rats stopped their assault, gazing slack-jawed at their fallen leader. The stink of Skarrik’s death scent was rank in the air. 

“Skarrik dead-dead!” One of the Stormvermin brutes suddenly shouted. Baring its chiseled teeth, it ran its halberd deep into another Stormvermin next to him. “Now I-I leader of Fester!”

A confused riot broke out as the Skaven turned on each other, biting and hacking with teeth and blade.

Victor breathed a sigh of relief. As he hoped, without the musk-scent of the Warlord goading them to a single purpose, the treacherous ratmen would rather fight amongst themselves for dominance. It was a gamble worthy of Ranald, where the stakes had been all their lives.

Taking advantage of the tumult, the Witch Hunter sneaked past the rioting ratmen to where Sienna had fallen. The Skaven that were attacking her were now fighting each other instead. With a snarl of rage, his rapier made short work of the conniving rats.

“Ah-ha… I owe you one, Hunter,” Sienna said weakly, as Victor knelt down next to her. His heart ached as he saw the large slash that split her skin. 

“Don’t talk,” Victor ordered, slipping her arm over his neck and supporting her lower back with a hand. “Can you stand?”

“Yes… I believe so,” she said, resting her weight on him before her knees buckled. Victor’s fingers tightened on her waist. “But the world spins.”

The rest of the Five made their way to them. “Drink this, wizard,” Kerillian said, pushing a bottle of health potion into Sienna’s hand. 

Making a face, the wizard uncorked the bottle and drank the green liquid swiftly. Instantly the wound stopped bleeding, although it was still red and raw. 

“Can you walk?” Victor asked.

“Better than before,” she answered, although her voice still sounded weak. “The potion helped.”

“Good.”

No longer caring what the others thought, Victor held Sienna close to him as they sidestepped their way through the carnage, and finally out to the waystone.


	11. Chapter 11

Sienna was feeling frustrated.

She thought that after the events of Karak Gnol, Victor would finally be ready to talk about the building tension between them. 

But after he had deposited her in the Keep’s infirmary, and spent an inordinate amount of time fussing about her injuries to the hapless attendant, he just stood there staring at her awkwardly for a few moments before hastily leaving. 

Sighing, the wizard leaned forward on the bed, hugging her knees to her chest. Her back was stinging from the poultice applied to the slash wound, but the physician assured her that she would be able to leave after a few hours. 

Sienna wished that Victor had stayed. She knew that it was stupid, and childish, but she did not want to be alone. Faint patterns of light danced beneath her skin as she let the glow of Aqshy suffuse her like a hug. When she was young and all alone on that caravan to Altdorf, it was a trick she developed to mimic a parent’s warmth. At that time, she did not know that it was Aqshy that she was channeling- all she knew was that it helped to keep the pain and loneliness at bay. But as she grew older, so did the darkness and the void, until only the intense rush of pyromancy could satisfy her. 

Cocooned in warmth, Sienna pretended that it was Victor who had his arms around her, where she could feel safe and protected. The irony that she trusted a Witch Hunter more than her own wizarding peers was not lost on her. Gormann would think she had gone truly mad.

But the hollow truth was that Victor was not there.

She was just being a child, silly and needy, yearning for something that she could never have. 

It was just like her parents. No matter how much she wished for them to come back, they never did. It was always the same with her. At the end of the day, she would end up alone, with only the caress of Aqshy whispering temptation into her soul.

She felt her nails dig deeper into her folded arms. 

Pariah and Outcast- what could Victor, devoted Templar of the favoured Church of Sigmar, know about this? He probably had everything, she thought resentfully. Power, money, legions of adoring supplicants-

A commotion outside the door distracted her from her thoughts. The door swung open, revealing Lohner and a protesting Victor. A bandage had been wound around the Witch Hunter’s forehead, and he was no longer wearing his leather coat and chain-mail. Instead, he was dressed in a simple linen shirt that hung slightly open, accentuating his lean figure. The top few buttons were undone, and Sienna guessed that he had dressed in a hurry. Her heart started to flutter.

“Ah, hope I’m not disturbing you, Sienna,” Lohner said cheerfully. “Saltzpyre here needs to be observed for a while, to ensure that the nasty cut in his head doesn’t infect.”

“Oh,” Sienna said in a small voice. She suddenly felt irrationally and ridiculously happy.

“I am perfectly fine, Lohner,” Victor argued indignantly. “All this fuss over just a scratch is unnecessary.”

“That ‘scratch’ nearly split your head open like a melon,” Lohner rejoined calmly. “And I bet that Warlord’s sword ain’t exactly clean. Better be safe than sorry with a wound like that. Anyway it’s just for a few hours, unless you would like our wizard to lay her hands on you.”

Glancing at Sienna, Victor actually blushed. His ears turned a flaming red. 

“W-what are you saying, Lohner?” He spluttered. “That is most inappropriate-”

The innkeeper quirked an eyebrow. “Why, to cauterize your wound, of course. Whatever did you think I was referring to?”

Victor glared daggers at him, mute with humiliation while Sienna bit back a laugh. 

Chuckling dryly, Lohner gave the Witch Hunter a light push into the room. “Don’t look at me like that Saltzpyre, I was only jesting. Now, get some rest before you burst that vein in your head.”

And he shut the door firmly behind him.

“I will have strong words with Lohner,” Victor spat, turning around to face Sienna. “That joke was entirely inappropriate and tasteless.”

“Well, I found it funny,” Sienna said. “Don’t be such a prude, surely you must have heard worse during your travels?”

“Yes, but I hardly consider Lohner to be in the same league as the common drunkards and rabble that infest taverns,” sniffed Victor. “I expected better from a man of his standing.” 

“Well, don’t just stand there,” Sienna said, gesturing at the chair next to her. “You should sit down and rest. Lohner was right about that cut, it’s a nasty one.”

The Witch Hunter hesitated before finally walking over to Sienna’s side. Drawing out the rickety chair with a hand, he sat down next to her, leaning forward with his long, slender fingers pressed tightly against his lap. Staring at them, Sienna could not help but think of the strength and warmth of his hands, when he gripped her shoulders to press her protectively against the wall, and how tightly he held her waist when she nearly stumbled from her wound.

“How- how are you feeling?” He asked awkwardly, gazing at her face. “The physician said that you should make a full recovery.”

“I am feeling much better. The back still stings a little, but it’s nothing compared to what I’ve been through before,” Sienna replied. She adjusted her position so that she was sitting cross-legged on the bed, her hands interlaced loosely in front of her. With a little grin, she saw Victor’s eye involuntarily drop to her chest, as the movement revealed the swell of her breasts beneath her thin, diaphanous nightgown. 

“That’s…ah... good,” he said thickly, before jerking his gaze away. Victor’s face reddened as he looked up to see Sienna’s knowing look. Clearing his throat and keeping his eye resolutely on her face, he continued. “Your performance certainly made _light work_ of the Skaven, and that was commendable.”

Sienna stared at him. “What?”

The little, expectant upward tug on Victor’s lips slowly disappeared as Sienna’s confusion deepened. 

“Y-you know,” stammered Victor. “Like you lit them up... with your flames... to make light work of them.”

“Wait, was that- was that a joke? Did you actually make a joke?”

The Witch Hunter coughed into his hand. “No… yes… I suppose it was meant to be a joke,” he said, flustered. 

“I’m so sorry Victor, but that was terrible,” Sienna started to laugh. “If Bardin was here, it would have gone over his head. Both literally and figuratively.”

Filled with embarrassment, Victor quickly changed the subject. “Right. Well. As I was saying, your performance was commendable. You are the reason why we are all still alive. Your flames uncovered the Warlord’s weakness. And surely you see it now, the power that comes with greater control! It was spectacular. The barrage immolated the vermin.”

Sienna felt a blush creep up her cheeks. 

“I never thought that I would hear you praise magic so fervently,” the wizard teased.

“I do not say this flippantly,” Victor immediately corrected. “The Winds of Magic are still corrupting forces. But to call down that storm of flame, even I know it’s incredibly difficult and complex magic. Not many wizards have that power.” He scoffed. “No wonder the elf likes you.”

“Gormann would be well pleased,” Sienna said with a wry smile. “He always criticized me that I lacked discipline, and that it was this flaw that prevented me from unleashing my full talent. I hate to admit it, but he was right. There is a reason for the rules and rituals after all.”

Victor’s lips quirked again. “So now you see the value of tradition and order. There is hope for you yet, wizard.”

“Hope for me, yes, but what about hope… for us?” Sienna said in a soft voice. Across her, she could see the Witch Hunter go very still. “Victor, we have to talk about this. We cannot go on with…this… whatever it is, still unresolved between us.”

“I know that you have feelings for me,” she continued, looking into his face. He averted his eyes, and his body was tense and stiff in the chair. “You made that plain so many times during the fight at Karak Gnol. So why are you making this so difficult?”

“It’s not that simple,” Victor ground out in frustration, running a hand through his close-cropped hair. He raised his eyes to hers, and she nearly blushed at the intensity of his gaze. “I… I have never felt this way before. You consume my waking thoughts. And when I close my eyes, it’s always your face, your eyes and your smile appearing before me. And I cannot stop it,” he said in anguish. “How can I perform my duty to Sigmar if I cannot even overcome my base instincts?” 

“But you seem to be doing your duty just fine,” Sienna said in confusion. “Your leadership is faultless. It was you who dealt the killing blow to the Warlord.”

“You don’t understand.”

“Then help me try to understand.”

Victor paused for a while, trying to put his disjointed thoughts into words. His hands clasped tightly together against the edge of the bed. 

“I was raised by the Order,” he finally said. “My father felt that I would be… useless as a blacksmith, and agreed to send me away to be trained. I will spare you the details, but it was a hard and strict life. But I am grateful for it, for it gave me meaning, an unflinching purpose to protect the Empire from the insidious corruption of the Ruinous Powers. They are evils that never sleep. Always they lie awake, ready for the misstep that will allow them to drag a soul into damnation.”

He gave a hiss of frustration. “But despite our best efforts, evil multiplies like a plague of locusts. We won a major victory at Karak Gnol, but it is a single pebble in the seething tide of ratmen that burrow beneath the ground. So now, when the Empire is besieged on all sides by enemies, how can I even allow myself the tiniest distraction? There are too few of us experienced enough left in the Order, too few of us who can take up the fight. That is why we can never be.”

Sienna felt a pang in her heart as she looked at Victor’s earnest face. While she may not agree with him on many things, he really did mean well. And it seemed that their upbringing had been similar- to be an effective Witch Hunter or Wizard was to be broken in ways that a normal person would never be able to endure.

“You don’t need to carry that burden all by yourself, Victor,” Sienna said gently. “I will gladly carry it with you. Isn’t it better to fight together than to be alone?”

Impulsively, she stretched out her hands to unfurl his own clenched ones, lacing her fingers in his. As her fingers sank into the spaces between his own, she realized with a sudden jolt that this was the first time he was not wearing gloves. Although hard and calloused due to years of sword fighting, his slender hands were not meaty like a blacksmith’s, but thin and long-fingered. She wondered if Victor had taken after his mother more.

The Witch Hunter started visibly. Colour sprang once again in his cheeks, creeping up to his ears. 

“You are making a mistake,” he said harshly, his own hands tightening around Sienna’s. “I can give you nothing. I have nothing. No security, no fortune to my name. To be with me is to walk closely with death. And I… I do not think I could bear it if something were to happen to you. I have many enemies and-”

“How little you know of me, Hunter, if you think all those things concern me,” Sienna murmured, leaning in close. She could feel the heat rising from his skin as his breath started to quicken. 

“Do you think me like those spoiled merchants’ daughters up in Altdorf, who only want a rich husband? Can’t you see? I want you, and I will fight by your side to protect the innocent. And,” she smiled fiercely. “Do you think any of your enemies would be able to take me on and live? I will turn them all into ashes.”

“I- I don’t...” The Witch Hunter trailed off, looking down onto his lap. His expression was tortured. 

“Fine,” Sienna said, throwing caution to the wind. “We can end this here and now. Tell me that you do not love me, that you have no feelings for me, and I will accept it. We will never talk of this again.”

Victor stared at her. His mouth parted slightly, but no words came out. As the silence continued to stretch, the smile on her face grew wider. 

“I thought so,” she purred, gazing into his stunned face. He looked shocked at himself, at his inability to say what he knew he should say. 

With his shadowed eyes and hollow cheeks, the wizard was struck by how very tired he looked. She had noticed his fatigue back in Karak Gnol, and more than ever, she wanted to soothe the lines that creased his brows, using her warmth to ease the tension lingering in the corners of his eyes. Stretching out a hand, she stroked the side of his face tentatively. At her touch, Victor closed his eyes and shuddered.

“Fuegonasus, please…”

Her skin prickled at the pleading tone in his voice. 

“Victor,” she said huskily, feeling the edge of her palm catch against his lips. “I think we have already moved on beyond last names. Call me Sienna.”

He caught at her wrist, and she could feel the sensation of his calloused tips pressing into her flesh, the pulse of his warm blood beating beneath the skin.

“Sienna,” he whispered, and his ragged voice sent a heat coiling low in her abdomen. “Please. Do not tempt me down this path, for I… I may no longer have the strength to say no. I-”

Leaning forward, Sienna placed a finger on his lips, stilling him. Eyes widening in shock, he stared at her almost in a daze. His body began to tremble. 

“I’m sorry,” Sienna replied, eyes blazing. “But I think I have been extremely patient, and I’m tired of waiting.”

Wrenching her other wrist from his grip, she took hold of his chin, forcing his face to tilt up towards her. Before he could react, Sienna pulled him in for a bruising kiss. There was none of the gentleness of her actions on the rooftop, as she craved to taste and feel all of him. For a fleeting second, she caught a glimpse of his shocked and fervoured expression, before his eyes closed and the taste of him filled her senses. 

Victor groaned against her mouth, the sound a low growl in the back of his throat that made all thought flee from her mind. Hands tightening possessively around her arms, he drew her close to his chest, where she could feel the flurried beating of his heart like a drum.

She gasped as he suddenly crushed his lips against hers, his calloused hands reaching up to cup her face between them. And with a force like a rushing torrent, he claimed her mouth hungrily, forcing her lips open to press his tongue into the space within. Sienna was not prepared for the fervency of his deepening kiss. As she expected, he was inexperienced, his technique a touch too demanding and sloppy. But that was fine, skill could be taught, and there was something so thrilling in his passionate earnestness and naked desire that she moaned, melting into his touch.

By the time Sienna became aware of her fingers, she had already knotted her fists into his shirt, knuckles brushing the rough edges of the cauterized wound in his chest. The Witch Hunter made a strangled noise as the wizard slipped her hands underneath the fabric, her warm fingers trailing up his abdomen to caress the lean hardness of his chest.

Panting, Victor broke away from the kiss, staring wide-eyed at Sienna. 

“N-not here,” he stuttered, breathless and disheveled. “Someone… someone may come in.”

“I don’t care,” the wizard said fiercely, leaning forward again to capture his lips in hers.

He groaned helplessly, the low, deep sound sending a shuddering jolt straight through her body. She could feel the old need flare into life within her, and suddenly, it was not enough that they were kissing and her hands were on his bare skin- she wanted more, needed more of him. Clutching at his shoulders, she toppled him forward onto her, relishing the weight of his torso on her chest. “Wh-” His gasp of surprise, muffled against her mouth, turned into a moan as his hand slipped to land between her legs, pressing through the delicate folds of the nightgown to the tight heat within. 

But as Sienna fell back onto the bed, she cried out in agony as a shock of pain ran down her back. She had completely forgotten about her injury. To her immense regret, Victor immediately scrambled back.

“A- are you all right? Did I hurt you?” The Witch Hunter asked anxiously, stretching out a hand to pull her back up. He was still breathing heavily, and his ears were a flaming red. “Ah... your back- I will call the physician-”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Sienna replied, wincing. The sharp pain in her back had receded to a dull throbbing. “That was silly of me, but I guess it’s because I find you so irresistible,” she teased, fluttering her eyelashes.

“It’s not wise to treat your injury so lightly,” Victor said, a pained expression on his face. “I should have also been more careful.”

His hand hovered awkwardly before alighting on her shoulder, his touch gentle like the warm sun on a lake. “We should…” he licked his wet lips nervously. “We may… potentially... continue when you are fully recovered.”

“Oh yes,” Sienna agreed, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Where should we arrange our next romantic tryst? I’m afraid that my room is perpetually in flames and in a mess, so that’s out. How about your quarters?”

The blush deepened on Victor’s face. 

“Ah… m-my room may not be appropriate,” he finally choked out. “The bed is only big enough for one.”

“I’m sure Lohner would have no problems installing a larger bed there,” said Sienna slyly. “I will talk to him.”

And before Victor could gather his wits to respond, she reached up to cover his hand on her shoulder with hers. 

“Victor… could you- could you hold me for a while?” She asked softly.

After the passionate kiss, she did not know why making this request made her feel so vulnerable. She had lovers before, many of them skilled and deft with their mouths and hands, but none made her feel the way that Victor did, safe and protected. 

“I-is this fine?” Victor asked, carefully wrapping his arms around her shoulders. For a man so fearless and bold in battle, he was so sweetly hesitant. Humming in satisfaction, Sienna leaned against him, breathing in his scent. Despite the dull pain in her back, a comforting warmth spread over her, blooming from her shoulders to the tips of her toes.

It felt like home. 


	12. Chapter 12

“So how did it go?”

“Very well indeed. You are a sly fox by far, beneath that oh so charming exterior of yours.”

“What can I say? You don’t stay in my line of work for long without picking up some tricks. Besides, it’s not as though we forced them together. We merely… encouraged things along.”

“Hmph. Wasn’t the dwarf injured as well?”

“Well, he was willing to recuperate in another room. Of course, the promise of a fresh cask of Bugman’s may have helped with that decision.”

There was a dry, cackling laugh. 

“Of course. And I suppose this was done purely for the good of the Empire?”

“Now don’t go all sardonic on me. The Empire is what I live and breathe for.”

* * *

Sunlight streamed in through the open window, illuminating the small but tidy infirmary with its twin rows of three beds. Except for one, the rest were currently unoccupied.

Earthen pots full of lilac blossoms sat on a bench close to the window, and their delicate fragrance lingered in the air. A robin trilled, and in the calm tranquility, it was easy to forget that a war raged outside.

Victor stared down at Sienna asleep in his arms, hardly daring to believe what had happened. To feel her warm softness against his chest, and the gentle in and out of her breathing, made a strange warmth swell up and overflow in his heart. 

It took him a while to realise that he was actually feeling happiness. This relaxed and contented feeling, that all was right and complete in the world, was as alien to him as compassion was to a ratman. It was a calmness so unlike the cold fury that always burned in his veins.

He could not remember the last time he felt this way. His world had always been in shades of grey, until Sienna came in like a whirlwind to light it up in an explosion of colour. 

Victor’s arms tightened around her shoulders, and the wizard sighed, shifting to burrow deeper into his chest. Stray strands of her flaming hair tickled his face. Resting his chin gently on top of her head, Victor closed his eyes as he breathed in the intoxicating scent of smoke and cinnamon.

He was still not sure if it was right for him to feel this way. Despite his happiness, guilt and worry gnawed at the back of his mind. 

Guilt because he knew he had been weak, and was unable to resist the temptation of Sienna’s warmth and comfort. Although the Order did not forbid romantic relations, they were frowned upon, as they invited unwanted distractions and vulnerabilities to the already overtaxed Witch Hunters. And for him to lie here in bliss, while the fires of war raged all around them, seemed grossly negligent.

And he worried, for to love her was to trespass lines previously uncrossed. The mutual distrust between the Church of Sigmar and Colleges of Magic went back centuries, and they were uneasy allies at the best of times. A Witch Hunter falling in love with a Wizard would spark widespread condemnation and outrage.

But if he was honest with himself, he knew that he had also been keeping secrets from the Order. What was one more in the ever burgeoning laundry list of half-truths and lies, when they refused to see truth staring at them in plain sight? 

As a devout Sigmarite, he would willingly lay down his life in defense of the Empire and its Emperor. Hence it rankled at him, that the Order he tirelessly served was determined to pretend that the Skaven was a myth. Although it bordered on blasphemy, how could a wizard see more clearly the threat the Skaven posed to the Empire? He had no doubt that the day of reckoning, when the ground splits and boils over with teeth, claw and filth was coming. 

And while the Order turned a blind eye, it was Sienna who fought side by side with him. If not for her, he would have perished long ago. She had bled for the Empire, and her life’s blood ran red and true despite the lure of corruption. In her trial by combat, she had acquitted herself spectacularly, and in spite of himself, Victor grew to admire and trust her. 

Opening his eyes, he gazed once again at the woman cradled in his arms. In her embrace he may have found his salvation or damnation.

“...Victor, stop thinking. It’s not comfortable to sleep on a tense chest.” 

Sienna stirred and turned to look up at him, her dark eyes reproachful. 

“It’s unfortunately one of the many hazards of my vocation,” the Witch Hunter said, with a slight upward quirk of his lips. Although he did not show it, his heart was feeling so irrationally full that he felt it might burst. “I thought that you were asleep.”

“Yes, I tried to,” Sienna murmured against his chest. “But I could feel you suddenly tensing up. What’s wrong? Are you worried about what your little group of templars might think?”

“If I truly cared about what my Order thought, I would have made Captain far earlier,” he replied dryly. “I certainly wouldn’t be here in this desolate Keep fighting the ratmen.”

“Oh? That’s surprising. Didn’t you say that you were grateful to the Order? Something about giving you meaning and purpose?”

“The Order gave me my faith,” Victor corrected. “And it is faith that gives me purpose and meaning. While I conduct my duties in the Order’s name, it does not mean that I agree with everything my superiors say. You of all people should know that.”

Sienna chuckled. “That is true. So what is troubling you then?” 

Idly, her fingers began to trace patterns on his linen shirt, the sensation making him feel light-headed. Distracted by her touch, Victor took a moment to compose himself.

“...It’s all this, I suppose,” he admitted slowly. He pressed Sienna to him even deeper, as though fearful that she might suddenly disappear. 

“I am not used to this. To be here with you feels like a dream… a dream that I do not deserve. It's completely alien to me. I-”

“Victor, I can’t breathe. You are squashing me.” Sienna’s voice was muffled against his chest. 

“Ah- sorry.” He flushed in embarrassment, immediately dropping his hands. He felt a sharp pang of loss as the wizard pulled away from him to sit back up on the bed. “Did I hurt you?” 

“No, but you need to relax. You are still too uptight.” Sienna gazed at him in concern, stretching out a hand to gently stroke his cheek. “It’s not a sin to feel happiness, Victor. Surely your god did not forbid love to his followers.”

A sigh of pleasure escaped him at her touch, and he instinctively turned his mouth to graze his lips against her palm. “No, it’s not forbidden. Some of my associates have taken partners and wives. It is only the priests who take such vows.”

“Then what is the problem? You are not breaking any vows or laws.”

“It’s… it’s difficult to explain.” The Witch Hunter fell silent, his brows creasing into a troubled frown. It was still difficult for him to express how he felt. It was not like a mission or a negotiation, where the only thing that mattered was the outcome. In those situations, communication could either be in the form of pointed words or the pointed end of a sword, and Victor was comfortable with both. He was not, however, familiar with talking about his feelings. For the better part of two decades, his feelings had been irrelevant.

After a while, Sienna patted the bed in front of her. “Come, sit here. Turn your back towards me.”

“What-”

“Just do it Victor, I promise I’m not going to murder you.”

Hesitantly, he shifted from the chair to the soft bed. The mattress sagged under his weight, and he was intensely cognizant of Sienna so close behind his vulnerable back. His heart started to beat faster. 

“Relax.” Her breath, a warm whisper against the shell of his ear, sent a shiver down his spine. 

When she grazed her fingertips along his scalp, Victor could not help but groan softly. A delicious heat emanated from her fingers, and she began to massage his head in slow, gentle strokes. As the tension leaked out of him, he could feel his head start to droop.

“That… that feels nice,” he breathed.

Sienna said nothing, humming a small tune as she massaged his head in small circles. Victor felt his eyes close in bliss. In the quiet stillness, with the warm pressure of Sienna’s hands kneading away his tension, he felt comforted. 

After a while, he started to speak. 

“I have never known such a feeling before. This feeling of… comfort and contentment. It is an odd thing for a Witch Hunter to experience. We are always meant to be on edge, as the continued safety of the Empire has always rested on our vigilance and duty.”

A fresh wave of guilt washed over him, dousing his happiness like a bucket of icy water. Victor could feel himself tensing again.

“... I wonder if I have the right to rest, when evil still continues to plague our borders. I should be talking to Lohner now about our next course of action. I should… I must…”

“The only thing you should be doing is **_rest_ **,” Sienna said firmly. “You look half-dead on your feet. Wasn’t Sigmar once a mortal man? Surely he must have taken rest in between all those great things that he did. What more for yourself? Do you claim yourself greater than your god?”

Victor drew a shocked, sharp intake of breath. He had never thought about it that way. 

“No, of course not but-”

“Then stop worrying and rest,” Sienna interrupted.

He wanted to protest, but the wizard had trailed her fingers down to where his neck met the shoulders. And as her expert thumbs pressed down on the hard knots in his neck, gliding and kneading their way up and down the sides, he shivered in both pain and pleasure.

As the knots of tension loosened, Victor was soon overcome by a heavy feeling of fatigue and exhaustion. He had not realized just how tired he was as he felt himself slipping into a doze, his head nodding forward. The soothing pressure on his neck lifted, and Sienna’s warm arms soon found their way around his torso, pulling him back to rest against her chest.

Finally surrendering to her comfort, the Witch Hunter turned his head to press a gentle kiss to her neck, lingering to feel the hitch in her throat and the heady smell of cinnamon. With a sigh, he leaned back into her soft embrace. The last he remembered was the whisper of kisses on his eyelids and cheeks, before a blissful darkness overtook him.

And for the first time in a long while, he fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

* * *

“What are you doing? That looks incredibly dull.”

“In case you have forgotten, I am a Witch Hunter _Captain_ ,” Victor said, stressing the last word. “Now that the Skittergate has been destroyed, I need to keep abreast of what my men are doing at the chapter house, lest I return to find it in ruin and disarray.”

Sienna hung over his shoulder, looking at the mountain of reports that Victor was sifting through. 

“By the Eight Winds,” she swore. “I don’t know how you keep track of everything.”

“I would thank you to keep the heresy to a minimum,” Victor admonished in a pained voice. “If you want to call on any higher being, call on Sigmar, instead.”

“But surely you don’t have to keep track of everything,” the wizard said, picking up two sheets of parchment. “Rising prices of grain? Linen shortages? Are these really issues that a Captain needs to concern himself with?”

“Yes,” said Victor firmly, rummaging through another pile. “You never know if a simple occurrence might have deeper implications. For example, a Skaven infiltration in a small town may be causing manpower shortages that affects the prices of grain. If such anomalies keep showing up, then it might be worth sending someone in to investigate.”

“Again, that seems to be far too much for any sane person to handle.” Sienna spread her hands at the piles of reports all around. “How would you even know what to look for?” 

“I don’t. But eventually the patterns will make themselves clear. Corruption always leaves a trail, and by Sigmar, I will uncover it.”

He turned to stare at Sienna. “What do you even think a Witch Hunter does? Do you think we just go around traipsing into random villages, burning people willy-nilly?” 

Sienna coughed.

Victor glared at her accusingly, although there was no malice in his gaze. “Granted, there are _some_ incompetents who do so, but a true Witch Hunter should always be looking beyond the surface.”

“Yes, yes, I am sure you are good and true,” said Sienna, wrapping her arms around him from behind. “But you have been working on that for five hours. It’s time to have a break. We just destroyed the Skittergate! Surely that is a cause for celebration and… other activities.”

Victor looked up sharply at that, and Sienna’s hooded gaze and saucy smile caused his face to redden.

“You promised.”

“Y-yes, I did but- ah-”

His words trailed off into a moan as Sienna bent her head forward to kiss his neck, deliberately focusing her efforts on his sensitive spot where the neck met the clavicle. As her warm mouth latched onto the curved groove, he groaned, fingers scrabbling against the table.

“Sienna,” he panted. “I- I need to work-”

“No more excuses, Victor.” Sienna lifted her head, eyes blazing. “The Skittergate was a good excuse, but now that that’s destroyed, I see no reason why we should put off intimacy any longer. Unless you find me unattractive?”

“No! Of course not, but…” He nervously ran a tongue over his dry lips. “I… I am not very experienced in bed. I might disappoint you.”

“Oh darling, that is highly unlikely.”

Sienna laughed, using both hands to pull him to his feet. She guided him towards the slightly larger bed that replaced Victor’s old, tiny one in a cell. Lohner had very graciously accommodated their request, although the Witch Hunter was suspiciously absent during the installation. For sanitary reasons, Sienna had also insisted that his torture rack had its own closed partition.

Taking him by surprise, she pushed him down onto the soft bed. As he sprawled in an ungainly tangle of limbs, the wizard climbed in after him, turning him over and straddling his body. Relishing his surprised choked gasps, she pressed the full weight of her body onto him.

“S-Sienna,” he stuttered, staring up at her desperately. He raised his hands to grab her but she was too swift. In an ironic twist of fate, Victor now found his wrists manacled to the chains adorning his headboard.

“I suppose living in a dungeon is convenient,” Sienna smirked above him. “Didn’t take you for the naughty type but here we are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted Victor to have some comfort in this chapter, as I think it’s not easy for him to be honest about his feelings. And they finally get to it in the next chapter ;) I blame the developers for leaving those chains above Victor’s bed.


	13. Chapter 13

“Y-you-” Victor struggled, but the rattling chains held him fast. “Sienna you-”

“Hush now, love,” the wizard said, putting a finger to his lips. She leaned forward, smiling down at his heaving, panting form. “I don’t think you are in any position to give commands, hmm?”

Wide eyed and breathing heavily, Victor felt his voice trail away as Sienna leaned in close above him. The smell of her, of autumn smoke and sweet spice, clung in the air and filled his senses.

“You look ravishing, Victor,” she whispered huskily, and he could see that her dark irises were now ringed with flaming gold. Despite still being dressed in his buttoned shirt and trousers, he felt naked under her intent gaze. 

He bit back a moan as Sienna’s fingers dug into his chin, forcing his head to turn to the side. Her warm lips parted, pressing against his cheek, his jaw before trailing down the side of his exposed neck to that particular spot on his throat. Already sensitive, he could hardly bear it as she slowly, maddeningly swirled her tongue on that curved groove. 

“Ah-! Sienna... it’s- it’s too much…” His face was flushed with humiliation and arousal.

“What, already?” Her voice drawled against his collarbone. “We have only just begun, darling.”

“Sienna, wait,” he panted, straining against his restraints. “I- I have never....ah…” 

“Never what?” She murmured, now slowly sucking the reddening skin. 

“I have never done this before,” he choked out in a rush, eyes closing in embarrassment. “No woman... wanted…”

“Then that’s their loss,” Sienna interrupted with a coy smile. “And don’t worry so much, Victor. Just relax. I promise you will enjoy it.”

She shifted up to capture his lips in hers, her tongue slipping into his half-open mouth to twine around his. Victor groaned as the feverish hot sensation of her sweet mouth flooded through him. While they had kissed many times before, the understanding that today’s session would likely end in deepening intimacy made him feel even more heated. 

He suddenly became acutely aware of every part of her body lying on top of him; from the feeling of her soft breasts squeezed against his chest, to their clothed groins flushed against each other. It felt like lightning sparking across his skin. Desire descended on him like a thick cloud, fogging his mind with titillating thoughts. Unable to help himself, he let out a loud and throaty moan, the shameful sound muffled against her mouth. 

Sienna smiled as she felt his stirring desire beneath her. Grinning wickedly, she sat back and rocked her hips back and forth, enjoying the feeling of his burgeoning length. He moaned again, back arching up desperately against her, wanting more of that exquisite friction- but her firm thighs at his sides held him fast.

“So eager,” the wizard purred, resisting his futile attempts to increase her speed. “Where is your patience, Hunter?”

“S-Sienna,” he groaned, biting his lip in frustration as she slowed her rocking to an agonizing pace. 

“I think…” Sienna murmured, pressing her warm hands on his stomach. “You are still wearing too many clothes.”

She watched his face turn even redder as she slid her hands up his shirt, slowly and deliberately unfastening the buttons that held together the last shreds of his dignity. When the last button sprang free from its hoop, Sienna spread his shirt open, laying bare his lean, toned torso. And hooking her fingers on the waistband of his breeches, she tugged his pants down, exposing him. He gasped, squirming between her thighs.

“You are red all the way to your chest, darling,” Sienna grinned, sitting back to admire the view. Chest heaving, it appeared as though Victor could no longer form coherent words. 

Staring at her through half-lidded eyes, the Witch Hunter looked more vulnerable than she had ever seen him, the colour high on his usually pale face. A shiver of pleasure ran down her spine as she drank in his disheveled helplessness, his flushed cheeks and sweat beading on his forehead. A thin sheen of perspiration coated his body, and with his hands tied above him, he looked completely debauched. There was nothing he could do to resist as her fingers languidly roved over his naked, scarred chest. 

“You are too thin, Victor,” she purred, ghosting a hand across his bare ribs. She could feel him tremble beneath her touch, and it excited her. Licking her lips, she began to kiss her way down from his neck to the chest, taking her time to trace the edges of his scars with her tongue. 

There were so many of them on his body- of old wounds improperly tended, raised bumps and blemishes that dotted the tapestry of wounds that was his torso. And she loved every one of them, as they were the physical manifestation of his drive and resilience. Lingering at the cauterized wound in his chest, she thought about the time she first laid hands on him.

Sienna pressed her lips to the raised, rough mark, eliciting a moan from Victor. 

“Do you remember that time in the cave?” 

“Of course,” he breathed, his voice thick and heavy. Victor gazed at her, the pupil in his eye dilated to a point where the grey around them was scarcely visible. “You were…” he swallowed. “Magnificent.”

She chuckled, gently nibbling at his skin. The taste of him was salty on her tongue. “Sweet-talker.”

“It’s only the truth,” he whispered reverently. “Sienna, you are beautiful.”

A blush crept up her cheeks at his words, and a warmth not due to her magic coursed through her. 

“Please,” he pleaded, straining against his bonds. His hands clenched and opened above his head. “I-I want to touch you.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes…”

“How much, darling?” She lifted her head from his chest, staring intently into his flushed face. Gold flared brilliantly around her irises, and faint sigils of light began to dance beneath the skin of her hands. Victor shuddered as new warmth flooded into him from her hands splayed on his chest. 

Embarrassed, he averted his gaze, desperately focusing on a point above her head.

“Tell me how much,” she repeated, and her voice was low and sultry. 

“V-very much so,” he choked out. 

“You make such a convincing argument,” Sienna drawled. She grinned wickedly. “But I quite like you helpless, Victor. I think I will keep you in this position for a while longer.”

The Witch Hunter stared at her askance, but there was nothing he could do as Sienna lowered her head to continue her slow and deliberate descent to his abdomen. His breathing became increasingly ragged the closer she headed to his exposed length, then turned into a frustrated groan as she deliberately ignored it to kiss his knee instead.

Trailing soft and wet kisses, she moved from the knee to the inside of his thighs. And putting a hand on his other knee, she spread his lean, long legs open even wider. 

“S-Sienna, this… this is obscene- ah!”

Her tongue moved in slow strokes as she worked her way up to the top of his thighs, and she could feel his flesh quivering beneath her. 

And when she reached his exposed length, erect and glistening at the tip, she looked at him straight in the eye as she kissed his shaft from the base to the tip. The smell of him, of sweat, leather and that undefinable masculine scent, was thick in the air. She opened her mouth, wrapping her lips around his girth, taking him in deep. At the sensation of the first, warm slide of her mouth around him, Victor moaned, arching his back. 

The ragged sound soon turned into strangled, gasping noises as she started to move. As Sienna swirled her tongue around his tip, she listened with pleasure as his pants and moans grew increasingly higher.

She caught sight of Victor’s face again. His good eye was fixed on her, and his expression was one of naked adoration and wonder. The sight sent a feeling like static scattering down her arms and legs, and the old need, already simmering below the surface, roared out its desire.

Sienna pulled off him, and in one swift motion, she yanked her loose fitting dress free of her shoulders and head. She tossed it on the floor next to Victor’s crumpled trousers. 

“Sienna,” he moaned, his voice low and thick with need. He lay naked beneath her, his vulnerability on full display. Eyes wide, the Witch Hunter drank her in- the image of her erotic sensuality poised before him, her hands cupping her full breasts as she slowly slid onto him.

“Victor,” she drawled huskily. “You feel wonderful.”

His eyes clenched shut as she sank down on him, savouring the hot tightness of her core. He felt as though he was drowning in pleasure, the intensity of his arousal compressing to a single point, aching for release. And as his hips jerked up of their own accord, and he could feel himself buried to the very hilt, he came to a new understanding of what it meant to be in ecstasy. 

“S- Sienna,” he gasped out. Her name was like a mantra on his lips. “Sienna, ah-”

“Steady, Hunter,” Sienna whispered heatedly. “I am not ready yet.”

Hips flushed against each other, she rode him slowly, shifting herself up and down on his slick shaft. Gradually she settled into a rolling rhythm of receding and thrusting pressure, the dull ache of that initial thrust soon giving way to a deeper yearning of pleasure. It felt as though time had narrowed to that singular moment, of heat and pressure and sweat, where there was only the sensation of their joined bodies, the feeling of him deep inside her.

As the aching need in her spiraled, and Victor’s thrusting grew more desperate, she leaned forward to unlock his chains. 

“I want you to touch me,” she ordered, her voice heated like smoke and fire. Victor’s breath stuttered as she took his right hand and guided it to the warmth between her legs.

“Higher, Victor.” Her breath hitched as his calloused fingers pressed into her, hesitantly stroking her as she showed him. “Yes, just there… now circle your fingers… harder- yes,” she moaned. At her encouragement, his firm strokes became eager and more relentless, driving her closer to the edge as the ache in her grew into an all- encompassing need. And as they hurtled towards completion, the rolling rhythm of their joined bodies grew more frantic.

With a cry, she arched back, feeling her entire body clench. Dimly, she heard Victor shouting her name, his hands tightly gripping her quivering thighs, his body jerking up in a final thrust as he spent himself in her. And like a tidal wave crashing down on sand, she allowed herself to be borne away, the bright point of her release obliterating all thought. 

They spent a few moments like this, their hips still slick and flushed against each other, coming down from the shuddering high. Victor’s chest rose and fell in rapid pants, his cropped dark hair mussed and plastered to his forehead. 

“So how was it?” She asked mischievously. “Did you enjoy it?”

“Y-yes,” he stuttered, staring helplessly up at her. His hands tightened on her hips. “I...I have not experienced anything like that before.”

“It’s something special right? You uptight Witch Hunters just need to bone more. The world will be a better place.”

“Sienna!”

“I’m only teasing, Victor.”

She leaned forward to give him a gentle kiss on his sweaty brow before withdrawing. Lying flat on his chest, she looked up at him, admiring the contours of his lean, angular features. As Victor raised his hand to stroke his fingers on her face, Sienna smiled, leaning into his touch.

Noticing that his wrists were red from where the manacles had chafed against his skin, she took hold of them.

“Do they hurt?” She murmured, pressing her lips to them. 

“No,” Victor said. “They do not hurt at all.” He grabbed her hand with a sigh, kissing the tips of her fingers fervently.

“Thank you,” he said awkwardly. “For this ah- experience.”

Sienna quirked an eyebrow. “You don’t have to be so formal, darling.”

“It’s special to me,” Victor said, his mouth trailing kisses on her knuckles. “I do not think I will ever forget it.” And wrapping his arms tightly around her, he bore her down onto the soft bed.

* * *

“Do you think they know everyone can hear them? I never realized it, but sound does echo quite a bit in the dungeons.”

“If they didn’t know, they will soon find out tomorrow. I for one would love to see One- Eye’s face. I never knew that uptight man could make such… interesting sounds.”

“Do you think they are finally done?” Markus asked idly, laying down a card on the table. 

“If you are so curious, you are welcome to knock on the door and ask.”

“You don’t need to get all snippy with me, Kerillian,” Markus said, injured. “I was just asking.”

“Well...Grimgi has stopped shouting Zharrin’s name, so that’s that,” Bardin said, squinting at his cards in the dim light. “I’m surprised he is so energetic, to be honest.”

“Ha!” Kerillian laughed scornfully. “I bet it was Sienna who did all the work. I told her that being with One- Eye was a big mistake.”

“I’m still offended that you lot knew all about it, and never let me in on it,” grumbled Bardin, taking a card from a stacked pile. Frowning, he discarded it. “I thought that we were Drengbarazi, sworn comrades in arms!”

“Wasn’t our secret to tell, Bardin,” Markus said easily. “And I’m of the mind that if it makes them happy, why not? Times are hard now. We may have destroyed the Skittergate, but who knows what other monstrous things are waiting around the corner? Seems like enemies are everywhere, nowadays."

“True,” the dwarf considered. “And I’m glad that Grimgi took my advice to heart. Although I never thought I would see the day that Saltzpyre and Zharrin would… er…”

“What? Go at it like rabbits?”

“Kerillian! Don’t be crude.”

“Well,” she said, looking in the direction of the dungeon from her place against the wall. Her voice softened. “They do sound happy. You mayflies live such short lives. They should take whatever happiness that they can get.”

“And the elf finally says something sensible,” Bardin said, getting up from the table. “This calls for a celebration and some stiff beer.”

“You just want an excuse to drink, don’t you?”

“Any occasion is a good reason for a drink,” Bardin replied sagely.

The dwarf walked over to the keg of ale sitting on a table in a corner. Filling three foaming mugs, he handed two to Markus and Kerillian. 

“Let’s toast our comrades’ love, my friends,” he said in a booming voice. “That their love lasts eternal and true, as true as any weapon forged from the Forge of the Gods. May they always have happiness.”

And as one, they downed their mugs. 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As this is the last chapter, hope that you don’t mind that my author’s note is a little longer than usual. 
> 
> I want to give a big thank you to everyone who has commented, kudoed and enjoyed my story. There have been some weeks where it was difficult to finish a chapter in time, especially when the writing was not flowing the way I wanted or when work was extremely busy. All your support really helped me to push through, and I can’t thank you enough.
> 
> For this final chapter, I always knew that I wanted to end on a note where although Victor and Sienna are together, they have not forgotten their purpose. There will always be more enemies to fight (chaos wastes, hopefully!), except that they now have each other. Hope that you enjoy it, and any comments/feedback/thoughts would be appreciated. 
> 
> I still have a few more Vermintide stories that I want to tell so I hope you will enjoy those too. Thanks for being on this particular journey with me.

The wheels of the rolling carriages ground to a halt before the locked gates of the sprawling town.

A grizzled watchman, alert and on edge despite the weathered lines on his face, rose up warily from his rickety wooden stool. He cautiously lifted his iron lantern high.

Pale yellow light spilled out from his raised lantern, dimly illuminating two oak paneled coaches. Painted a menacing black, they were each pulled by a team of two horses. The beasts stamped and nickered in the chilly air, tossing their manes.

Although the carriages looked expensive, and were sturdily constructed for long travel, the watchman’s sharp eyes noted that the sides were unmarked and bore no respectable coat of arms. Suspicion furrowed his expression, and his hand hovered close to the sheathed sword at his hip. Devilry was afoot these days, and unknown visitors arriving in the dead of the night seldom boded well.

He rapped on the darkened window of the first handsome coach. “Papers, sir or madam. And state what business you have in our town.” 

There was a rustling sound, and steel- tipped boots descended from the coach, crunching on the gravel path. A tall, grim man in a leather coat emerged, his height made even more imposing by the high hat on his head. The wide, rounded brim shadowed his features, but the aura was unmistakable. 

The watchman drew a short, sharp intake of air. “Witch Hunter!” He gasped under his breath.

“My name,” the visitor said coldly and imperiously, “Is Victor Saltzpyre. I am a captain of the Holy Order of Sigmar. It would do well for you to not hinder me on this grim night.” 

“I-I am sorry sir,” the watchman stammered. Cold sweat started to bead on his brow. “But I cannot let you pass until I see your papers, as well as know who rides with you in those carriages. The captain of the garrison was very explicit in his orders.”

The Witch Hunter arched an eyebrow at this, but said nothing, letting the silence rise and thicken between them. 

“I-I mean no o-offense, my lord,” the watchman continued, his words tripping over themselves in his haste to fill the silence. “I am a…ah- pious man who attends church services regularly. I would never dream of interfering with your business, only that…”

He kept his voice low, making the sign of the hammer. “There is some evil lurking within the town, my lord. Unexplained disappearances. Twenty good men and women have just vanished from their beds. Disappeared into thin air, yet their windows and doors were shut and bolted. If you are who you claim to be, sir, your presence would be a welcome, sir.”

“I see.” A look of triumph gleamed in the Witch Hunter’s eye, as though what the watchman had said confirmed some hidden suspicion. 

“Very well.” He drew from his pocket the scroll of his commission bearing the Grand Theogonist’s seal. “I trust that this is sufficient?”

“Yes, sir,” the man said, licking his dry lips. His eyes shifted to the two carriages waiting behind. “Your ah- companions, sir?”

Victor strode back to the first carriage, while making a gesture in the direction of the second coach. Opening the door, he stretched out his hand to help a second figure alight. 

The watchman’s eyes widened as he caught sight of the flaming hair and distinct red outfit of the new stranger. 

“Y-you’re a…”

“Sienna Fuegonasus.” The second figure turned to face him, her voice low and smoky. A large key hung from the leather belt around her waist. She quirked an amused eyebrow at the man’s gaping expression. “Yes, I am a battle wizard from the Bright Order.”

Mouth hanging open, the watchman could not help but stare. Battle wizards were rare, and to see a magic user in the company of a Witch Hunter was almost unthinkable. Side by side they were a study in contrasts- one tall and dour in manner and clothing, the other as bright and vibrant as the sun.

He thought he saw the wizard’s hand sneak into the Witch Hunter’s and he blinked in astonishment. But when he looked again, there was no such closeness. It must have been a trick of the flickering light.

Victor cleared his throat.

“And here is the rest of my retinue,” Victor said, gesturing at the other figures alighting from the second carriage. 

Tearing his eyes away from the wizard, the watchman turned towards the second group and did a double take.

“That’s- that’s an elf! By Sigmar, I have never seen one before!”

“You will get used to it,” said a powerfully built mercenary wearing a plumed hat. Three thin scars were raked over his left eye, and a giant executioner sword was strapped to his back. “Mind that you don’t offend her though, unless you want yourself shot full of arrows.”

The grizzled watchman paled as Kerillian turned her gaze on him, that flat, unblinking stare sending shivers down his spine. 

There was a rumble of dissatisfaction from the rear of the group. “Yes, let’s all just ignore the dawi, shall we?” 

“A dwarf! I-”

“Stop gawking. They are here under my jurisdiction and express approval,” Victor cut in. “I will personally handle any objections to their presence. And now. Time is short. Ask the men to open the gates.”

“No other- ah… Witch Hunters, sir?”

Victor fixed the man with a steely glare, taking a step forward. “Are you questioning my authority, watchman?” He said softly. 

“No, of course not, my lord,” the hapless man yelped, raising both hands in supplication. “I-I merely… wondered-”

“Order business is not your business,” Victor interrupted harshly. “Keep your wonderings and idle tongue to yourself, lest you find yourself the subject of my… attention.”

The man fidgeted, and his eyes kept glancing at Sienna’s fiery hair to the inky, inhuman blackness of the elf’s eyes. It was nothing like he had ever seen before. The watchman could not help but wonder at what manner of evil had befallen his town, that a Witch Hunter had to have such beings in his retinue.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Victor continued impatiently, turning back to his carriage. He signaled at the rest of the group to head back to theirs. “Open the gates and stop wasting my time!”

“Y-yes, at once sir,” the watchman said, springing to attention. Hurriedly heading back to his post, he shouted instructions up to the men manning the gates.

“It’s always nice to see you in action,” Sienna said with a saucy smile. 

“Must you always take such risks?” Victor shot back, keeping his voice low. His hand was on the small of her back, supporting her up the carriage. “We are lucky that he didn’t see you try to grab my hand!”

“I know, but it was exciting, was it not?”

Victor gave a helpless growl as he climbed in after her, slamming the coach door shut. He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead before turning to grab a sheaf of papers from the table.

“In any case, I was right,” he said triumphantly, as the carriage started to pick up speed again. Thumbing through the papers, he drew one out and began to write out notes with his quill. His lettering was thin and precise in spite of the carriage’s movement. “Despite your constant ridiculing of my methods, the Skaven **_are_ ** causing trouble in this town.”

“I didn’t ridicule them,” Sienna corrected, taking a seat opposite him. “I merely highlighted the insanity of looking through hundreds of unrelated reports just to uncover that one hunch. I think you are the only person I know capable of doing so.”

“Thank you I... are you implying that I’m insane?"

Sienna laughed at Victor’s outraged look. “In a good way darling! I think we all need to be a little mad to be here, anyway.”

“If not for such efforts, we would not even be here this night,” the Witch Hunter said, looking miffed. He finished the last of his notes and put away his quill carefully. 

Sienna stared out of the carriage window at the town buildings passing by. Despite the late hour, yellow light still shone from some of the houses. And on the street, several drunk young men were making merry. 

“Well, it is a pleasure to finally arrive in a town that is not in smoking ruins,” she said wistfully. “I have almost forgotten what normalcy looks like.”

Victor removed his leather gloves, reaching out to clasp her hands with his calloused ones. “With Sigmar’s grace, we can yet save the people of this town.”

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, with Victor absently rubbing his thumbs on the back of her hands. The only sound was the steady rocking of the carriage as it sped on into the night. 

“Although…” the Witch Hunter suddenly said, his eyes glinting as he stared out through the window. “Does it not appear odd that this town seems so relaxed, considering that twenty people have disappeared from their beds?”

Sienna frowned. “Now that you have mentioned it, you are right. There should be patrols about, or at least a curfew imposed.”

“The watchman outside the gates was concerned enough, but why are the civilians so nonchalant? Where is the city watch? The inner guards?” Victor’s lips drew back in a savage smile. “I think we may need to pay a visit to the watchman’s captain before meeting with the burgomeister of this town.”

* * *

“Guards!” The finely dressed man cringed away as Victor bore down on him, his expression murderous. “Guards,” he cried out again desperately. “Protect me!”

“There is no one coming to rescue you, you filth,” Victor spat, raising his rapier. The fine thin blade was streaked with blood and matted fur. “The rest of your little crew have been rounded up by my associates and the local garrison. It is the pyre that awaits them, and may Morr speed their souls to damnation!”

“Please!” The man shrieked, falling to his knees and clutching at Victor’s coat. “Have mercy! I can give you anything you wish! Name your price!”

Victor kicked out with his boot, striking the man across the face and drawing blood. 

“You wretched scum.” His voice shook with barely repressed fury. “The Chief Justice of this town and you dare ask for mercy? Mercy is reserved for those who walk in Sigmar’s light. None can be afforded to the likes of you, cavorting with the ratmen!”

The Witch Hunter bent down, yanking the man’s head back. The tip of his rapier pressed against the prisoner’s neck, deep enough to cut.

“You will tell me what I want to know or I will flay the truth from you, inch by inch,” Victor snarled. “When do your ratmen masters plan to attack the town?”

“I- I don’t know!” The man babbled. 

“You dare-”

“I have a faster way, Hunter,” Sienna said grimly, emerging from the shadows in the dank cave. She sidestepped the dead Skaven that littered the ground around them. Crouching down, she brought a hand up to the wretched Chief Justice’s face.

Her dark eyes flared gold, and a thin, hungry tongue of flame burst from her index finger.

“Do you know how painful it is,” she said conversationally. “- to have your flesh char and melt while you are still alive? Every minute you say nothing, I will set aflame a single body part of yours.”

The corrupt Chief Justice gaped at her, his body trembling against Victor’s sword. 

Grinning mercilessly, Sienna let the tongue of flame bloom into a spinning, flaming ball. The heat from it caused the man’s greying hair to singe and smoke. Sweat ran in rivulets down his brow, mingling with the blood trickling from his neck.

“So what’s it going to be? Your nose? Your eyes?”

“Tomorrow,” the man squealed, his eyes wide with fear. “When Morrsleib waxes at its zenith! Have mercy!”

With a snarl of contempt, Victor slit the traitor’s throat. 

“We must hurry to the others, we don’t have much time-”

“Wait,” Sienna cautioned, grabbing Victor’s arm. “We are not alone.”

The Witch Hunter cursed as he heard the familiar sound of skittering and scratching in the walls all around them. Red beady eyes gleamed at them in the dim light as the cave in front of them began to fill with ratmen.

“Sienna-” 

Victor instinctively pulled the wizard behind him, his rapier at the ready. 

Smiling at the Witch Hunter’s protectiveness, Sienna readied her staff behind him. “Don’t worry so much, darling, we have done this many times before.”

“Even so,” Victor said, his voice tense. “We should not be careless.”

Her free hand stole into his and squeezed tightly before letting go. “We are unstoppable, right?” She murmured, drawing in the energies of Aqshy. 

“Of course,” Victor said with conviction, waiting for the first wave of slavering ratmen to reach them. He could feel the warmth of Sienna’s gathering fireball behind him, and he raised his rapier high. “And I am glad,” he continued softly. “...to have you here by my side.”

Together, they descended upon their enemies with steel, fury and flame. 


End file.
